


Choices

by lsmith7768



Category: Here Come the Brides
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lsmith7768/pseuds/lsmith7768
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choices are made in love, friendship, anger and pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote a long time ago. It needs some buffing up but I'll try to post it fairly quickly. This first chapter has some, I hope not overly, graphic description of wounds.

The man was dying.  He sensed the fact through pain-dulled senses the way he sensed the sun on his face, the breeze that tousled his hair and the coldness of the ground beneath him.  He fought it, but his strength had ebbed along with the blood that still oozed from his horribly torn leg.  He didn’t know how long he’d lain like this, his back resting against a giant Douglas fir.  Somewhere his horse had disappeared, but exactly when he’d fallen from the animal’s back was lost in the fog the whole previous day had become.

 

He was dying now.  Yet, being a strong, proud man, he wasn’t ready to quit.  All his life he’d fought, struggled through.  No, he’d never quit, but he could be beaten and he was very close to being beaten now.  He tried desperately to see a way out of the situation he found himself.  There was no hope anyone would search for him.  It would be days before anyone even knew he was missing.  The thought brought a grim smile to his bloody face.  Would anyone worry about him?  He didn’t think so, for he was a man with no real friends.  So he must face this alone as he’d faced the rest of his life.

 

The pain had faded to a point where he could barely feel his body at all.  He would have welcomed it back to give himself something to fight against.  His mind drifted now, unable to find anything to pin his concentration.  Regrets for things he’d left undone, things he’d left unsaid welled through him.  Despite his resistance, he slipped into unconsciousness; aware he may never awake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sara Ashmore saw the man through her binoculars.  He sat with his back against a tree as if he was simply resting, but her experience told her something was terribly wrong.  She could see no sign of a horse and few ventured into these mountains without at least a pack animal.  He certainly wasn’t one of the miners who worked the mountain.  Even at this distance, she could see the ruffled front of his white shirt.

 

She urged her horse slowly forward.  As a woman alone in a wild country, she’d learned caution early.  Certain the man was badly injured or dead, she also knew even an injured man could be a danger to her.  She pulled the carbine from the scabbard on her saddle.

 

As she got closer, she could see the ruffles on his shirt move softly in the breeze, but could see no movement from the man himself or any other sign of life.  Well, a dead man certainly couldn’t hurt her.  The least she could do was give him a decent burial.

 

She dismounted and tied her horse at the edge of the small clearing.  She hesitated a moment, scanning the area, letting her senses extend to detect any hint of danger.  The animals were quiet today and she could hear the rustle of the wind in the tops of the trees.  It was then she caught the scent of blood.

 

Her moccasin feet carried her soundlessly across the clearing to the man.  His left pants leg was in tatters, the thigh at an angle impossible for a normal leg.  He’d tied some kind of bandage, which was now darkly stained with blood, around the leg.  Vicious claws had raked his left arm and chest.  A mountain lion or possible a bear seemed to be the cause of his death.

 

She knelt beside him.  Looking through his pockets, she hoped to find something to identify this man.  At least, she would be able to put a name on his grave, possibly contact relatives to inform them what had become of their loved one.  But she was disappointed.  His pants pockets held nothing.  She guessed he’d worn a jacket that was with the rest of his gear, wherever that might be.  He could never have walked here, not with his leg in that condition, and what had happened to him had not happened in this spot, for the ground around him was undisturbed.  His horse must have run after the man fell off. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure why.  “You’ll have to be buried nameless.  There are others like you in these mountains.  At least you’ll get a decent burial, which is more than some get.”

 

She felt an overwhelming sadness fill her.  The family and friends of this man would never know what became of him.  Always they would wonder.  She quickly discarded the possibility of bringing him to the nearest settlement.  It was a good day’s ride to the Trading Post and they could do little more than what she could do right here.

 

For the first time she looked at the man’s face.  A strong, attractive face framed by black wavy hair.  Surely someone must love this face.  Amazed she wiped away the tears that overflowed her eyes.  With all that had happened to her in the last few years, she had never cried for herself.  But the tears that fell now were as much for herself as for the unfortunate man before her.  She knew his fate could very well some day be hers.  To die alone with no one to grieve for her.  No one to even know of her death.  At least, she was here to mourn this nameless man.

 

She reached over to straighten the bent leg, not wanting to bury him looking so broken.  Then scrambled back in shocked surprise when the man moaned in pain.  She had been so sure he was dead, with all that blood soaking his clothes, she’d never checked to see if he lived.  Regaining her composure, she considered the totally different problem that now faced her. 

 

This man could be dangerous.  He could have been sent by the General to hunt her down.  If she helped him, he could destroy the safe little life she’d carved out for herself.  But what other option did she have?  Leave him here and hope someone else found him?  Very unlikely, for he was the only person she’d seen in these mountains for the last six month.  She would be leaving him here to die and she didn’t think she could live with that decision, no matter who he was.  She would have to help him herself.  And to do that she’d have to get him back to her cabin.  She could see no way to accomplish that impossible task.

 

The man was tall and husky.  She guessed him at roughly twice her weight.  She would never be able to lift him unto her horse.  But first things first, she would have to immobilize that leg if she were going to move him.

 

Taking a hatchet from her saddle, she cut two of the straightest branches she could find.  She arranged them at his side, then paused to draw a few deep breaths, steeling herself for what she must do next.  Gritting her teeth, she grasped his knee.  With her foot braced against his wide chest, she pulled with all her strength.  The man moaned as the agony penetrated even his deep unconsciousness.  But she heard a pop as the bones clicked into place.  As quickly as she could, she bound the branches to his leg to hold it as still as possible.  Moans echoed in her ears, unsure whether it was she or he who made the sounds.  Finally the job was done.  But how was she going to get him back to the cabin?

 

Glancing around clearing, she smiled at a sudden inspiration.  Unrolling the blanket from her bedroll, she laid it next to the man.  Hacking down two saplings, she lashed the blanket between them.  With more rope, she tied the ends of the saplings together to make a travois.  Smiling at her creation, she now only had to get the man on it.

 

Much later, covered with as almost as much dirt and blood as the man, she breathed a sigh of relief.  Taking a moment to get her breath back, she wondered again at the course she’d undertaken.

 

She glared at the unconscious man.  “I hope you’re worth all this work.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was full dark before she got back to the cabin.  Now she had the problem of getting the man indoors.  First, she blocked the door open and removed her favorite quilt from the bed.  No sense ruining it for a total stranger.  Back outside, she untied the blanket from the two trees.  Looping the rope around the bedpost, she then tied it to the end of the blanket.   Slowly she led Chipper, her gelding, away from the cabin, inching the man toward the door.  Finally after much pushing and rolling, she had him lying beside her own bed.

 

Kneeling on the floor beside him, she panted and waited for her limbs to stop shaking.  On impulse, she laid her head on his chest, suddenly afraid all her efforts were for naught.  With relief she heard the heart beating remarkably strong.  If she were going to keep that heart beating, she’d have to start to work.

 

Groaning, she lifted his shoulders from the floor in the attempt to move him onto the bed.  She pulled with all her strength.  Cursing under her breath she lifted, but could get him no more than sitting halfway up.

 

Close to tears, she cried at the man,  “I didn’t ask for all this trouble!  The least you could do is try to help.  Help me, damn you.”

 

To her total surprise, he moved.  He wedged his good leg under his butt, levering himself upward, using her for support.  Together they got him onto the bed.

 

Excited by his response, she leaned over him.  “Who are you?” she demanded.  “What’s your name?”

 

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand, but never opened his eyes.  She sighed in frustration as he sank back into unconsciousness.  Shaking herself, she began the work of keeping him alive.  First his clothes would have to go, so she could see how badly he was injured.

 

She cut the shirt at the shoulders, then along the side seams with her shears.  She felt regret at having to destroy such a fine expensive shirt, but it was already beyond repair and she could think of no other way to remove it without causing unnecessary damage or pain to the man.

 

Kindling the stove, she put a kettle of water on to heat.  She hesitated, gazing at the stranger on her bed.  That he may be dangerous was disquieting, though he remained unconscious unable to harm her in any way.  His beard was coal black, as was his hair, but his skin had taken on the color of tallow.  Coming closer she studied him closely.  There was a sheen of sweat on his bared chest and arms, and she reached out a tentative hand to touch him, finding his body radiating an unhealthy inner heat.  Quickly she fetched a bowl of vinegar water and sponged his face, neck, arms and chest as far as his waist then left the cool compress on his brow in an effort to bring down his fever.

 

She knew she must check his leg, but at the thought her palms went damp.  First she split the tall shiny boots and slid them off.  Then she snipped away the trousers but the cloth stuck to his skin, so she mixed the vinegar water with saltpeter and applied the dripping compress to loosen the cotton from his wounds.  When the cloth fell free, she felt faint as she saw the wound for the first time.

 

How long she stood staring at the raw wound and the welling blood she did not know.  But suddenly it was as if someone had shot her.  Her body jerked and she was frantically, bathing, stanching and praying.  In the hours that followed she fought against time as a mortal enemy.  Realizing he must get some fluids…or die…she beat a piece of venison with a mallet and put it into salt water to steep into tea.  But he kept bleeding and she began to doubt he’d live to drink it.  She held the gash closed, hoping that closing the wound would help the bleeding stop, but when she took her hand away the wound gaped open again.

 

She didn’t think wrapping it firmly would hold it together properly and she didn’t want the man’s leg to heal badly and cause permanent weakness.  Some part of her mind told her it didn’t matter, that he would die no matter what she did, but she pushed it away.  Then she caught sight of the half-made moccasins lying on the table.  There was the answer.

 

She washed away seeping blood, but wasn’t quite sure how to begin.  When she jabbed a hole with her largest needle, the man moved and mumbled.  She was going to have to do this quickly.  She threaded a piece of sinew through the hole made by the needle and then the hole opposite, then carefully pulled them together and tied a knot.

 

She decided not to make too many knots, since she wasn’t sure about pulling them out later.  She finished three knots to hold the torn muscle in place and added four more along the gash.  When she was through she frowned at the knots holding the man’s flesh together but it worked.  The gash no longer gaped and the bleeding had slowed to a trickle.  If the injury healed clean without infection he might have good use of the leg.  At least, the chances were much better.

 

She wrapped the leg and bound one of the saplings back to it.  Then she carefully washed the rest of the wounds, mostly around the left shoulder and chest.  She cleansed the gash that ran from his eyebrow, down his cheek to his jawline.  It would leave a scar, she was sure, but her father always said scars only showed how brave a man was in battle.

 

She sat back now and accessed the man’s condition.  None of the wounds in themselves were fatal, but he’d lost a great deal of blood and some of the wounds showed the first signs of infection.  His body was warm to the touch, his breathing labored.  She feared he might have pneumonia.  There was no telling how long he’d laid out in the weather, but she guessed at least a full day, by the state of his clothes and the length of his beard.  He was tenuous, this one.  Feeling the man’s dark, wide brow, she realized it had not cooled, so she swabbed him again.  But when she stopped sponging, he immediately grew hot again.

 

Searching the shelves above the stove, she looked for a medicine to fight the fever.  Her father’s father had been the medicine man of his tribe and, as was tradition, he’d passed the skill to his son, even if the son was half-white.  Her father passed the knowledge on to his own daughter, also the offspring of a white woman.

 

Growing up, Sara’s father taught her not only the secrets of medicine, but also the traditions of the old ways.  Her mother had never interfered, even when her father, lacking a son, taught her the art of tracking and trapping.  Her mother taught Sara to read and write from the many books that she’d managed to bring to the cabin.  Together they’d shared a thirst for knowledge.  Now armed with modern medical books and ancient medicines, she set about saving a man’s life.

 

Hours later, feeling her own exhaustion, she decided there was nothing more she could do for the man.  She looked about the small cabin dismally.  Pieces of rags were everywhere.  Blood was spattered over the floor.  Turning on her heel, she disregarded it all.  Pulling the quilt over herself, she sank down on the bed that had, before her parent’s death, been her own.

* * *

 

 

Jason Bolt strode up the long pathway to Seattle.  There was a bounce in his step and a broad smile on his face.  All was right with Jason’s world.  It was unusually warm for fall, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, they had just completed a lucrative contract ahead of schedule, and he had put one over on his chief rival.  So he, one arm looped around each of his brothers, was heading for Lottie’s saloon to celebrate.

 

He was assailed by the smell of smoke, wool and hard-working men as he stepped into the saloon.  Loggers and mill workers mingled in the room and Captain Clancey stood at his usual place beside Lottie at the bar.  Ben Perkins was there for his before-dinner drink on his way home to his wife and infant son.  Only one of the regulars wasn’t there and Jason was beginning to miss his presence.  But it would be worthwhile when Aaron got back from the wild goose chase Jason had sent him.

 

There was nothing he liked better than to rub Aaron Stempel’s fur the wrong way and this had been one of his best practical jokes ever.  He had spent weeks planning it.  Of course, he suspected that Stempel enjoyed their contest of wits as much as he himself did.  It was a rivalry that had begun the second the two men had laid eyes on the other.

 

A spontaneous cheer from the loggers echoed in the room as Jason and his brothers stepped in.  The huge bonus the Bolts had earned by completing the contract early had been shared with each and every man in their camp.  Already some of the hard-earned gold was flowing along with Lottie’s whiskey.  A drink was in Jason’s hand before he even got close to the bar.

 

All the heads lifted as the brides’ contingent came in the door.  Jason found himself thinking again, they would never have done this in their native New England.  There, no moral girl would set foot in a saloon.  Here, Lottie’s was the community center of the town.  There was really no other place to go for the young people to meet and socialize.

 

Candy Pruitt, as usual, led the group.  Naturally, she gravitated to Jeremy’s side.  The two were engaged, thought they hadn’t yet set a wedding date.  Biddy Cloom moved behind the bar, for she loved to help Lottie tend bar and listen to all the gossip.  She delighted in passing every tidbit onto the rest of the brides.

 

“Is Mr. Stempel back already, Lottie?” Candy asked.

 

“He isn’t due for a few more days yet.  Why?”

 

“He’s gonna be madder than a wet hen when he gets back, too.  Isn’t he, Jason?”  Joshua, the second of the Bolt brothers, laughed.  “I can’t believe you really got him to go all the way to Packwood to buy a piece of land that doesn’t even exist.”

 

Jason couldn’t suppress his smile.  “I just appealed to what the man loves most.  His pocket book.”

 

They all laughed.

 

“Candy, what makes you think Aaron is back?”  Lottie asked.

 

“There’s a horse out front.  I was sure it was Mr. Stempel’s.  But if it isn’t his, whose is it?”

 

This sparked the interest of everyone in the saloon.  Any stranger in town was worthy of mark.  Anything different from the dreary day-to-day existence could bring the whole town out into the muddy streets.  As it almost did now.  Certainly the whole saloon emptied.

 

Jason was the first out to the street.  The horse, standing untied in front of Lottie’s, had obviously been through hell and back.  His coat was sweaty and dirt-caked; cuts and scratches ran down his flanks, some of them deep and serious.  His head hung down, but from his lines he was a fine animal.

 

The group exchanged uneasy glances as Joshua stepped closer.  “She’s right, Jason.  It’s Baron.”

 

Everyone remembered the day Aaron brought the horse back to the settlement.  One could not live in this town and not hear of the animal’s superb bloodlines.  Aaron boasted to everyone who would listen.  A person would think it was the finest horse alive.  He never rode anywhere on any other horse.

 

“He wasn’t here when we came in, was he, Jason?” Jeremy, the youngest Bolt, asked.

 

“No, he wasn’t, Jeremy.”  Jason patted the horse’s side.  “What happened to you, boy?”

 

“Has anyone seen Aaron?” Lottie called.

 

One of the mill hands shook his head.  “We just came up from the mill.  This horse just wandered up here all by himself.”

 

Questioning glances were exchanged through out the crowd but no one could answer in the affirmative.  No one had seen a sign of Aaron Stempel.

 

Jason took a good look at the horse.  The bedroll was still tied securely behind the saddle.  Tied over it was a dark jacket.  With uncertain fingers, he loosed the leather straps.  Without a doubt, the fine broadcloth was Aaron’s.  His wallet was still in the inside pocket.  Everyone murmured at the discovery.  Only disaster could have separated Aaron Stempel from his money.

 

Jason handed the jacket to Lottie and started to remove the rest of the gear.  His fingers wandered over the pommel of the saddle.  It was then that he noticed the rusty stains that covered it.

 

Jeremy leaned closer.  “Jason, is that…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.

 

Jason took a deep breath.  “It’s blood.”

 

“Oh, no,” Candy whispered, reaching out to grasp Jeremy’s hand.

 

In shocked silence, the others turned to Jason.  He and Aaron Stempel had always been the acknowledged leaders of the town.  Now they all waited for Jason to give them direction.

 

“Ben, start send out wires.  Find out if anyone’s seen Aaron.  Especially Tacoma.  He would have been coming back that way.”

 

“Right away, Jason.”  The telegrapher ran up the street to his store.

 

“Harve, get a search party together.  There’s still a few hours of daylight left.  Aaron may not be far.”

 

The mill foreman responded with a quick nod and, gathering men together, jogged away.

 

“Jason?”  Joshua spoke with a lowered voice so the rest of the crowd couldn’t hear.  “Aaron’s been gone almost a week now.  And this horse had been a long way.  Aaron could be anywhere along a hundred miles of trails.”

 

Jason was aware of one of the brides, probably Biddy, crying behind him.  “I know, Josh.  I know.  But we’ve got to start somewhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, the black-haired man became aware of a great, steady heat on his face, and he could tell by its constancy it was the sun. 

 

Progressively, he became aware of the raw gnawing pain in his flesh.  But this he couldn’t identify, knew only that it pained him in a way nothing else ever had before.  His eyes rolled behind closed lids, refusing yet to give up their private dark.  He wondered if he opened his eyes would he rouse from this dream?  Or was it real?  Was he alive?  Was he in Hell?  His eyes grated open but he stared up at a ceiling not his own.  His body ached in many places.  What is this…he thought foggily, and his eyes faded closed to leave him wondering where he was.  He lifted drugged lids again and gritted his teeth till his jaws popped, then raised his head in a painful effort.

 

He saw the back of a boy in buckskins at the stove.  Something was boiling and the smell reminded him of when he'd been a child.  Someone is sick, he thought foggily.  Then he slipped once more into blackness.  But not before he took with him the image of the boy.  In his insensibility he dreamed, the boy harped at him, commanding him to do feats of which he was incapable.  He insisted he speak, roll over, don’t roll over, answer him, be still.  He dreamed the voice had turned to honey, then intruded thorn-like again until he escaped it altogether and slept dreamlessly.

 

Sara despaired when the man’s head fell back and he was lost in oblivion before she could wrest his name from him.  She couldn’t go on thinking of him as the stranger for too much longer.

 

She finished the breakfast she’d started.  When she’d woke this morning she’d found herself ravenously hungry.  Of course, she hadn’t eaten at all the previous day.  Dishes washed and put away, she checked the man again.  Feeling his forehead, she found it somewhat cooler, but still warmer than it should be.  She studied his face in this quiet moment.  His features were rugged with strong bones.   So different from the delicate beauty of Conrad, the young man she’d married in San Francisco.  She guessed this man’s age to be in the mid-thirties.  A great deal older than her twenty years but not really so old.  She hoped the strength she saw in his face would help him recover now.

 

Suddenly, feeling a bit sheepish, she spoke aloud.  “You are not going to die, sir, because I won’t let you.  We’ll take it one step at a time.  You had better find it out right now, I usually get my way.”

 

He didn’t move a muscle.

 

“Just look at you, you’re a mess.  I’d better comb your hair for you.  There’s little else I can do right now.”

 

She got her own comb from her dresser and ran it through his thick hair, experiencing a queer thrill at seeing to the intimate needs of this total stranger.  “This hair is dirty, but if you want a proper washing you’ll just have to wake up.

 

“What happened to you?  Was it a lion or a bear?  Is there someone somewhere waiting for you to come home?”

 

He tossed his head from side to side as if in response to her words.  She smiled tiredly.

 

“Well, I have no one either.  But I’ll take care of you until you can go back to where you came from.”

 

Suddenly his arm jerked and a small sound came from him.  He tossed his head to one side and would have rolled over, but she prevented it by holding him down with restraining hands.

 

“Lay flat!”

 

Throughout the day she guarded him.  Time and again he tossed, and she ordered him, “Stay on your back,” until she could fight him no longer.  She fumbled into the kitchen, found a length of rag and tied his right ankle to the footboard, his right wrist to the headboard.  Blurred by exhaustion, she brought her rocker and sat beside him.

 

“When are you going to make up your mind to wake up?  At least to tell me your name?  I’m getting tired of calling you, hey you.  And you’re being an awful lot of trouble, you know, lying there like a great hibernating grizzly.  You’re the one who makes me tie you up like that.  I know it seems mean but it’s the only way I could think of.”

 

As the day progressed, the man’s eyes moved often, though they remained closed.  By evening his forehead was cool and sweat drenched the bedclothes.  Now and then she saw his muscles flex and he tossed repeatedly.  But by the time she fell asleep he hadn’t regained consciousness.

  

* * *

 

 

The black-haired man again became aware of the smells around him.  With his eyes still closed he caught the scent of something sweet like flowers.  There was, too, the starchy agreeable scent of soap.  He opened his eyes and his lashes brushed against a rough textured pillow.

 

He shut his eyes, trying to recall whose bedroom it was.  Not his own, he could tell that much.  He had not moved, nothing more than opening and closing his eyes.  His right hand was tingling; it prickled as if no blood ran through it.  When he flexed his fingers, they closed around a cylinder of metal and he realized with shock that he was tied to the bed.

 

Fear raced through his veins and his heart beat rapidly.  Who could have tied him up?  He tested the bindings to see if he could break them, but they were tight on both hand and foot and he felt unusually weak.

 

He lifted his head to a pair of buckskin breeches directly in front of him.  He accessed the situation warily, wondering if he could use his left hand to knock his captor off his feet with one surprise punch.  But a shock of pain closed his eyes.  He pretended to go back under so he could get a look at the boy’s face, through a veil of near closed lashes.

 

What he saw made his eyes open wide in surprise.  For this was not the teenage boy he remembered before him, but a pretty young woman.  Auburn hair was tied loosely at the nape of her neck.  Eyes of smoky green stared out at him from fragile features.  She reached out one of her hands and leaned close to lay one, oh so cool, along his cheek.

 

“Your name…what’s your name?” she implored.

 

He wondered vaguely why she didn’t know but saw no harm in telling her. 

 

“Stempel,” he tried to say, but his voice was a pathetic, croaking thing.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  "Aaron Stempel.”

 

“Stempel,” she whispered.  “Well, Mr. Stempel, now I have something to call you.  I guess you’re not a stranger anymore.”

 

She wheeled, now facing the window and from behind it looked like she was wiping her eyes.  But why would she be crying over him?  No one had ever cried over him before.  Who was this creature who thought he was important enough to cry over?

 

He attempted to sit up but she came immediately and pressed those cool hands on his chest to stop him.  “Please, Mr. Stempel, don’t.  You’re in no shape to move yet.  You’ll just start to bleed again.”

 

He got a good look at her and she looked about as strong as a ten-year-old and not much older than that, but the arms pressing him into the bed had a fair amount of muscle behind them.  Besides, every time he moved his muscles pained him terribly.

 

“If you promise to behave now, I’ll untie you.”  She smiled.  “I had to keep you still somehow.”

 

He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her.  She freed him to move limbs that now refused to do anything.  She lowered his dead arm and began rubbing it deftly.

 

“Give it a minute.  It’ll be all right.  Just stay still and I’ll get you some food.  You’ve been out for most of two days now.”

 

Suddenly the blood came racing back, pounding through his arm, and shooting needles of hot ice everywhere.  He gasped and arched.  But the gasping hurt his throat and the arching hurt everywhere else.  He tried to swear but that hurt worse, so with a dropping of eyelids he subsided, fighting the giddy sensation his skin was trying to explode.  He reopened his eyes in a moment and found the girl gone from his sight.

 

He tried to stretch his left leg and found it totally immobile.  When he flexed its muscles, a film of sweat erupted from his forehead and chest.  What the hell, he thought.  Feeling around, he found a ragged quilt drawn up to his hips.  His hand slipped under the quilt to find himself totally naked.  His eyes widened and his face darkened in embarrassment.  _How the hell did I get here totally naked in this girl’s bed?_

 

His eyes wandered to the clinking domestic sounds.  He was certain he wasn’t in Seattle, for if there had been a girl like her there, he surely would have noticed.  He tried to think of how he came to be in this place, but his brain seemed foggy, unable to think.

 

“Here we are, Mr. Stempel.”  He jumped and winced.  “I made some broth.  It’s not much but it’s the best I could do on short notice.”

 

As she cupped the back of his head and lifted it, ripples of pain undulated from muscles down his body.  Automatically his eyes sank shut and he sucked in a sharp breath.  When his pain subsided, her voice came again.

 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  She tucked another pillow beneath his head and shoulders.  “But you won’t able to eat very well lying flat like that.”  Next she placed a towel under his chin and dipped the spoon.

 

He knew he couldn’t do an adequate job of feeding himself, his muscles wouldn’t respond.  But he was humiliated having to be spoon-fed as if he were a new baby.

 

She wondered why he scowled so, his near black eyes frightening in their intensity.  Again the thought that he might be a danger to her flashed across her mind.  She talked to relieve some of the tension.  “You’re a lucky man.  I found you yesterday.  I think some kind of animal attacked you.  Your left leg’s badly broken and you got clawed up some.”

 

He scowled more as he searched his memory to find the incident, but it wasn’t there.  Everything was failing him, first his body, now his memory.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Sara,” she smiled sweetly.  “Sara Ashmore.”

 

He lay back down, the soup only half finished, sweating profusely.  Even the act of eating exhausted him.  His leg, hip and lower stomach had turned to flame.  Resting the back of his hand across his eyes, he gritted his teeth in pain.  A cool hand brushed hair back from his forehead.

 

“Rest.  I think you’ve done enough for now.”

 

He lacked even the strength to nod in reply.  He tried desperately to think, to find some answer in his mind, but no thoughts formed through the dark cloud that descended.

 

She started preparing a simple dinner, unable to understand the feelings that filled her.  It felt different to be cooking for someone other than herself.  The house no longer held the lonely pall she’d felt since she’d returned to the cabin.  This strange injured man filled the emptiness.  But his dark eyes followed her, making her feel tingly and strangely nervous.  She didn’t think she could stand to touch him like she’d done when he was unconscious.  Right now she wasn't even sure she wanted to get within arm’s reach of him.  She became angry with herself and him for her nervousness.  She had done perfectly well here by herself before she’d found him.  She was tough and the man was dependent on her right now.  She wouldn’t turn back into the woman she’d been when she’d lived with Conrad.  She wouldn’t let him make her skitter around like a nervous mouse.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

She turned to him, puzzled by the question.  “What?”

 

He gestured weakly.  “Helping me?  If it’s a reward…”

 

“Reward?” she spat, cutting him off.  “You think I’m doing this for _money_?”

 

His eyebrows lifted and his head tilted as if he thought that could be the only possible reason.

 

Growling deep in her throat, she whirled back to the stove.  The anger that had been threatening boiled over.  “I’d do it for a dog.” She threw back over her shoulder.

 

“If the dog had money!” he retorted hotly.

 

Silence dominated the room as she finished cooking.  Very collectedly and with exaggerated control, she approached the man,  “I thought you might have to relieve yourself.”

 

A puzzled frown covered his face.  When she produced a flat pan, he flushed dark in embarrassment.

 

With a voice like ice, she issued orders, “Don’t strain.  I’ll help you roll over on your side.”  She snapped the blanket ends loose from their mooring, rolled him with it until he faced the wall still covered.  She laid the pan next to him and without another word left him.  She smiled a little to herself, knowing she’d managed to sting him exactly where she’d meant, his pride and dignity.

 

They spent the rest of the evening in angry silence.

  

* * *

 

 

She awakened and shivered, aware that something had roused her.  It was a deep cold night, a damp chill coming in on dew-laden air.

 

“Sara.”

 

She heard her name whispered hoarsely and knew it was he calling her, and unconsciously, she checked the buttons up the neck of her nightie.

 

“Sara,” he whispered again and this time she didn’t hesitate, not long enough to light a lamp.  She walked surely through the dark familiar cabin to the side of the bed.

 

“Sara,” he rasped weakly.

 

“Yes, I’m here, Aaron.”

 

“It’s worse.  Can you help?”  He’d lost his pride in his pain.

 

She lit the lamp quickly to find his eyes closed.  She bent to remove the binding and bandages from his leg.

 

“Oh, dear God!”  She breathed when the odor assaulted her nostrils.  “Dear god, no!”  The edges of the wound pulled at the stitches, the edges a dirty gray, and the stench of putrefaction all but knocked her from her feet.

 

She alternately cursed herself and prayed, scouring her mind for the answers to questions.  Never should she have allowed her anger to overcome her common sense.  The man had done nothing to make her feel the way she had, except be there.  He had not asked for this to happen to him.  Even if he had offended her with his questions, he didn’t deserve to die like this.  He had stirred her so she’d forgotten to check the poultice to see if they needed repacking.

 

He lay upon the bed, breath too shallow and sweet to be healthy.  Forgotten now was her anger at him.  All she knew was that something must be done to save his leg and possibly his life.  She scrambled through his mother’s books, hoping desperately they held the answer for her now.

 

He moaned restlessly as her frantic fingers scanned the pages, reading snatches aloud before finally finding a remedy.  She lurched to the stove, casting the book aside, muttering, “Charcoal and yeast, charcoal and yeast.”

 

He drifted for a long time in a kind of peaceful reverie from which he was curiously removed, yet somehow aware of his surroundings.  He heard the stove lids clang, heard her exclaim, “Ouch!”  He smiled wondering what she’d done to hurt herself.  Some glassy, tinkly sounds of fabric ripping, water being poured.  She seemed to float close to him, arms and hands laden.  But he was smacked from his blissful nether state when she began cleaning his wound.

 

“Please, don’t!  Oh God, don’t!” he gasped.

 

“I’m sorry, Aaron, but I’ve got to do this.”

 

He reached down to combat her hands.

 

“Please don’t fight me,” she pleaded.  “Please, I don’t have time to tie you again.”  He groaned deep, long and raspy and she bit her inner cheek.  He clasped the quilt with his left hand but otherwise remained still, no longer fighting her.  She removed the useless dead flesh, swallowing the gorge in the back of her throat, wiping at her forehead with the back of a hand.

 

Tears formed in her eyes, leaked down the corners while she bathed the wounds, then whispered, “I’m almost done, Aaron.”  She felt his hand grope at the front of her nightgown.  She let him grab a weak handful and pull her close to his mouth.

 

“Seattle.  I’m from Seattle.  Tell them what happened to me.  Tell Jason…Jason Bolt...”

 

“You can tell him yourself.  You are not going to die.”  She spoke fiercely.  “I told you I won’t let you.”  _Oh, please God; don’t let him die, not now._

 

But he’d drifted into oblivion, his grip falling slack, his lips grown still close beneath hers.

 

It became a personal thing then, refusing to let him die.  She mixed warm damp yeast with the remnants of charcoal, forming a mixture she hoped would keep him alive, all the while feeling for a second time the will to prevent the death of another human being.  Stubbornly, she vowed he would live.

 

If the first night had been difficult, the remainder of this one was a horror.

 

Come on, Aaron,” she whispered fiercely.  “ _Help_ me.”

 

She didn’t know if he heard her.

 

“Don’t die on me now, Aaron, not now that we’ve come this far.”  He tossed wild with delirium and she fought him, using what she thought was the last of her strength to keep him flat.

 

She argued with urgent intensity, “Fight it, Aaron.  You’re a fighter.  Fight it now.”

 

But she herself could fight just so long.  She fought long after she knew what she was saying or who she was or who he was or where they were.  When unconsciousness overtook her, so did a dream.  Eagerly she stepped into his welcoming arms.

  

* * *

In another part of the Great Northwest, men gathered in a saloon shaking rain from mackinaws like large dogs.  Lottie and the brides hurried to bring steaming mugs of coffee to the half-frozen men.  When Jason Bolt entered, every head turned in his direction.

 

Jason scanned the crowd, saw only downcast eyes and knew there had been no progress.  He himself was exhausted.  For the last week, he’d ridden the road to Packwood.  He’d combed every side-trail and questioned every person he’d met.  There had been no sign of Aaron Stempel.  It was if he’d vanished from the face of the earth.

 

Jason accepted a cup of coffee from Lottie and gave a silent shake of the head to her questioning eyes.  He spotted Ben and motioned him to the bar.

 

“What have you heard, Ben?” Jason spoke in a hushed voice.

 

“Not a thing.  I’ve sent wires to every telegraph office in the territory.  No one’s seen Aaron.”

 

Jason nodded.  “He never made it to Packwood.  Whatever happened to him happened at least two weeks ago.”

 

Ben lay a trembling hand on Jason’s arm.  “Where do we go from here?”

 

Jason couldn’t say the words he was starting to believe were true.  He’d never been the kind to give up hope easily.  “I don’t know.  Maybe nothing’s happened to him.  Aaron might have found some pretty young thing along the trail and decided to spend some time with her.”

 

Lottie stared at him and said with a shake of her head.  “You might believe that of one of your loggers, but not Aaron Stempel.  And that wouldn’t explain his horse showing up in the condition he was in.  With Aaron’s jacket and money.”

 

“Jason, you’ve covered every inch of the trail from here to Packwood.” Jeremy stood beside his brother.  “If Aaron didn’t get that far, _where_ could he be?  How much further can we go?”

 

Jason whirled on his brother, arms flailing up into the air.  “As far as we have to.  We’ll go as far as we have to until we find him.”

 

“Jason, we’ve got a contract to meet.  We’re already two days behind.”  Joshua, ever practical, spoke.  “We just don’t have the men to spare to keep up this kind of search forever.”

 

“Are you saying a _contract_ is more important than Aaron’s _life_?”  Jason exploded.

 

“Of course, he’s not saying that.”  Lottie calmly interceded.  “We just may have to accept the fact there’s nothing more we can do.”  She locked her wise eyes on Jason.  “Are you being so stubborn because you think there’s hope we’ll find him?  Or because you think what happened to Aaron is your fault?”

 

Jason deflated, slumping against the bar.

 

“Jason, you know you’re not at fault.”  Jeremy protested, placing his hand on his oldest brother’s back.  “You never meant for anything bad to happen.”

 

Jason sighed deeply.  “In my head I know that but in my heart…” He shook his head.  “But that’s not the only reason.”  His eyes took in his two brothers and Lottie.  “In some strange way, Aaron Stempel has become family.  And I can no more give up on him than I could on any of you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Aaron awoke one sunny morning, weak but ravenously hungry and amazed to find himself alive.  He flexed his muscles, found them stiff and sore from disuse but the grinding pains had faded.  He saw the claw marks on his chest were scabbed over and looked half-healed.  He wondered how many days he’d lain there.

 

He turned his head around to find Sara standing beside the bed, looking like an urchin wearing her brother’s hand-me-down clothes.  He felt a sudden closeness to this frail imp such as he’d never felt for another person.  She had seen him through hell and out the other side.  A gentle smile transformed her young face that showed signs of exhaustion.

 

“So you’ve decided to join the land of the living,” she said quietly.

 

“So I have.”  He felt a wave of undefined feeling rush through him at the way she looked at him.  She apparently felt it too for she looked away quickly.

 

“You’ve been sick for nearly two weeks now.  Your leg was badly infected.  I thought I’d never get your fever to break.”

 

“Two weeks?” he marveled.  He had brief flashing moments from the past days, but he wasn’t sure if they were dreams or memories.

 

“Almost.  Twelve days.  You were awake sometimes but I don’t think you really knew where you were.  How are you feeling now?”

 

“Starved!”  He relished his aliveness.

 

“That’s no surprise.  You haven’t had anything but broth and tea since I’ve found you.”

 

He hitched himself up in the bed, feeling weak and dizzy as he sat nearly upright for the first time in weeks.  He closed his eyes for a moment to let the dizziness pass.  When he opened them again, he found her looking at him in concern.

 

“I’m fine,” he said brusquely, not used to admitting weakness.  “Just a little dizzy.  Have to get used to sitting up again.”

 

When she brought back a savory stew, he insisted on feeding himself.  He ate slowly, relishing every bite.  After eating half the stew, he found himself full.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t eat anymore, but it was delicious.” He complimented to make up for his earlier rudeness.

 

She blushed at the unexpected praise.  When she’d lived in San Francisco with Conrad, he’d never complimented her cooking, in fact he’d rarely eaten with her, preferring the company at the nearest saloon to hers.  She had forgotten the pleasure of sharing a meal with another person.

 

Aaron looked around the house for signs that someone lived here beside Sara. 

 

“Where’s your father?” he blurted. 

 

She was startled by his sudden question.  “My parents died about five years ago.”

 

“You have a husband, then?”  he asked, although he couldn’t believe she was old enough to be married.

 

“Ahh…he’s gone.”  Inwardly she winced at her lame answer.  But she could hardly tell this stranger the truth.

 

“You mean you’re all alone.”  He was astonished.  How could this fragile girl care for herself in this remote wilderness?  Who hunted for her food, chopped the wood, and did all the manly things?  And what kind of man would leave a pretty little thing like her alone in the woods?

 

She was amused by his obvious amazement.  “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t make me helpless.  And I’m hardly a child.  I’m twenty.  I do very well by myself.  I have bushels of canned vegetables from the garden this summer.  I have a cow for real milk.  I raise potatoes, which I sell at the Trading Post along with the furs I trap.  I have even brought down an occasional deer.  And I don’t know why I’m explaining this all, because I really don’t care _what_ you think.”

 

The little flip of her head and her saucy look didn’t irk him like it might have before.  It set him off into gales of laughter.  He didn’t laugh in ridicule of her but it felt so good.  He laughed until tears came to his eyes.  _God, it was good to be alive_.

 

She was a little amazed by his rich resonant laughter.  The sight was incredible; it completely changed him.  She gazed at his beaming face, with a feeling of profound discovery.  She hadn’t known his teeth were so white, his mouth so handsome, or his eyes so sparkling.  While his laughter filled the small room, the sight of him filled her heart, and suddenly she found herself incredibly happy.  A first chortle of enjoyment left her throat, then a second and soon her laughter joined his.

 

When the room stilled, they continued smiling at each other in mutual amazement.  He tried to swallow and couldn’t.  She tried to think of something to say and couldn’t.  He tried to think of her as a married woman, but couldn’t.  She tried to think he might be dangerous, but couldn’t.  He told himself he would have to live under the same roof with her, it wouldn’t be fitting to have feelings like this, but it didn’t matter.   She reminded herself of Conrad.  But none of it mattered.  None of it.

 

Common sense intruded.  Sara turned her back quickly and went back to the dirty dishes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sara swung into the cabin, lugging the milk pails, kicking the door shut behind her.  Aaron hoisted himself a little higher on the bed to look around at her entrance.  Her nose wrinkled.  “Phew!  Something surely stinks in here and I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Stempel, but I think it’s you.  You are about as rank as a polecat.”

 

For a moment Aaron considered being offended, but her mischievous eyes changed his mind.  “If you think it smells bad from over _there_ , you should smell it from over _here_ ,” he complained.  “If you’ll let me out of this bed I could get washed up decently.”

 

“I don’t think you should get up yet, but I could give you a bath.”

 

He pulled the blanket a little higher up at his waist.  “You mean right here in bed?”

 

Turning, she had all she could do to keep from laughing at his challenging stare.  “I did it before…I can do it again.”

 

His thick, black eyebrows disappeared into his tousled hair.  “You did it before?”

 

She did laugh then.  She returned with warm water, soap and a rag.  He noticed she had very delicate hands that looked incapable of managing the job.  But some minutes later, she had an oilcloth under him so fast, he didn’t remember raising up to have it slid into place.  He submitted, raising his chin, turning his head, lifting his arm on command.  He had to hand it to her; she really knew how to give a man a decent bed bath.  It felt damn good.  He couldn’t believe it when she climbed up next to him to get at his left side.  It was done before he had a chance to get embarrassed.

 

“Would you like to shave now?”

 

He ran his hand over his cheeks, “Gettin’ quite a growth, aren’t I?”

 

“I like it that way.”  She blushed at her revealing remark.

 

He raised his brows.  “Maybe I’ll let it grow then.”

 

“It grows fast.”

 

They assessed each other, and in that time he realized she’d studied him in his sleep long enough or hard enough to mark the speed with which his beard grew.

 

He was the one who turned away this time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Food’s ready.”

 

He roused at her words, clenching his hands, and gave one of those shivering all over stretches.  It was slow and terribly masculine.  He growled lazily, deep in his throat, twisting and yawning.  She watched those muscles twisting and turning in youthful curiosity.

 

Aaron sat up in the bed, appreciating the meal before him.  The trout was delicious, the best he’d ever had.  He’d tasted different food throughout the States, but her hand with seasonings had subtly enhanced the food.  The only thing that kept it from being perfect was the fact that he was still confined to the bed and couldn’t eat at the table.

 

Sara was unaccountably pleased that he took the time to savor the meal.  He had done little in the past few days since awakening.  He’d eaten and slept, mostly slept, regaining his strength.

 

When he was through with the meal, she brought him a cup of mint tea and prepared to change his dressings.  The swelling was down and only a little redness remained.  The slashes on his chest, head and arm were healing nicely.  He would carry some scarring the rest of his life but no permanent impairment.  It was the leg that worried her.  Had it healed properly?  Would he regain full use?  Some use?  Or would he be a cripple?  She thought this man would have a hard time accepting that.

 

She removed the poultices, relieved to see that her treatment had reduced the festering.  There was definite improvement though no way to tell yet how much use he would have of it.  Tying the wound together with sinew seemed to be working, or so she hoped.  Considering the damage, the leg was close to its original shape, though there would be extensive scarring and perhaps some deformation.  She was quite pleased.

 

It was the first time Aaron really had a look at his leg, and he was not pleased.  It looked much more seriously damaged than he had imagined.  He blanched at the sight and swallowed hard a few times.  He could see what she had attempted to do with the knots.  It might make a difference, but he wondered if he would ever walk again.

 

“It looks much better this morning.” Sara beamed.

 

He choked a little, “Better?”  If this was better, what had it looked like before, he wondered?

 

“Oh yes.  The infection is gone and I think the knots can come out.”

 

It took him a moment to overcome his dismay enough to realize what she was proposing.  “You mean I’ll be able to get out of this…” He visibly cut off an obscenity.  “…bed.”

 

Sara smiled at his attempt at gentlemanly behavior.  Neither Conrad nor his friends had ever tempered their behavior on her behalf.  “Well, we’ll take the knots out and see how the leg looks this afternoon.”

 

He smiled, feeling he’d won a victory.  “Then this afternoon I can get up.”

 

But she saw through his trick.  She wasn’t going to let him commit her to more than she intended.  “I said we’ll see.”

 

Aaron smiled again.  In the past days, he’d lost all doubt that she was capable of taking care of herself.  With nothing else to do, he occupied his waking hours watching her seemingly frail form doing all the endless chores.  But he could also see there weren’t enough hours in the day for all the chores that needed to be done.

 

He was fascinated by her changeability.  She switched easily from nurse, to hunter, to giggling child.  At first he’d though the buckskins and trousers she wore terribly unfeminine.  They reminded him way too much of Holly Houston.  But he now saw how practical they were for the life she lived.  He had seen her leave to check her traplines and the confidence of her stride never failed to impress him.  She may not be what he’d always considered feminine but neither was she lacking in attractions.

 

Sara had an antiseptic solution ready, but she was nervous as she prepared to take out the knots that held his flesh together.  She didn’t think the wound would fall apart, it seemed to be healing well, but she had never done this before and she wasn’t sure.  She had considered removing the knots yesterday, but it had taken Aaron’s complaint to make the decision.

 

The young woman bent over the leg, looking closely at the knots.  Carefully she pulled up one of the knotted pieces of deer sinew.  Skin had grown attached to it and pulled up with it.  She wondered if she had waited too long, but it was too late to worry now.  She held the knot with her fingers and with her sharpest knife, she cut one side as close to the knot as possible.  A few experimental tugs proved it was not going to pull out easily.  She looked into Aaron’s eyes.

 

“This is going to hurt.  Just don’t bend that leg, the bone’s not set yet.  We don’t want to have to go through that again.”

 

He nodded, his lips set tight.  “Go ahead.”

 

She took the knot and with a quick jerk, pulled it out.  Aaron winced.  She also winced at causing him pain, but no gap opened.  A tiny trickle of blood showed where the skin had torn slightly, but the muscle and flesh had healed together.  Discomfort was a small price to pay.  She took out the remaining stitches as quickly as she could while Aaron gritted his teeth and clenched his fists to keep from yelping every time she pulled one out.  They both leaned closer to see the results.

 

Sara decided that if there was no change and he was careful to put no weight on the limb she could let him out of bed this afternoon.  She wiped the wound with the antiseptic and cleaned up the slight amount of blood.

 

“How’s it look?” he asked anxiously.

 

“I think I should find you some clothes if you’re getting out of bed this afternoon.

 

His face lit up with pleasure.  She smiled back.  “But don’t you _dare_ put any weight on that leg!”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”  He suddenly yawned.  “I don’t know why I’m so tired all the time.  I never do anything.”

 

“Go ahead and take a nap.  You’ll need your energy this afternoon.”

 

He nodded sleepily.  “I think I’ll do that.”

 

A wave of contentment closed on her as she looked about the single room cabin.  Somehow the man now sleeping peacefully in her bed had become part of the room.  She found it very comfortable with him.  And it was wonderful to have an another person to talk to.  It was difficult to hold an intelligent conversation with a cow. 

 

She shook her head in irritation.  He’d get better, go back to where he came from and she’d get her life back to normal.  The same normal and lonely life she’d led for the last year.  That didn’t bear thinking about.  For the past year she’d ardently avoided thoughts about the future.  It was entirely too depressing.  She would live for the moment.  Now was the only thing she had.  She would enjoy it while she could.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He woke a few hours later.  She came over as soon as she saw he was awake.

 

“Do you want to get up now?”

 

His face lit up with eagerness and before she could reach him, he tried to get up.  His enthusiasm failed.  He was weak and it was painful to move.  Dizziness and nausea threatened, passed.  Sara watched his expression change from an eager smile to a grimace of pain and then a sudden blanching.

 

She laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.  “I’d tell you to hold your britches on, but you seem to have forgotten you don’t have any on.”

 

He glanced down at the legs he’d managed to swing over the edge of the bed.  They were bare, as was everything else beneath the concealing blanket.  His blanching changed to a blush of embarrassment.

 

“I think you could use this.”  She helped him pull an old, slightly bedraggled nightshirt of her father’s over his head.  It didn’t fit him very well.  It was too snug through the chest and shoulders and the sleeves only came halfway down his forearms.

 

“I may need a little help,” he said as he pulled the garment around his hips and rolled the sleeves up.

 

“Okay, here we go,” she said, offering her shoulder for support and her hand for assistance.  “Remember, _don’t_ step on that leg.”

 

At first he didn’t put too much weight on her, but as he saw that she was bearing up under it, had the strength and knew how to pull him up, he took her help.

 

When he finally stood on his good leg and Sara looked up at him, her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide.  The top of her head barely reached his chin.  She knew his body was long but she hadn’t projected that length into height, hadn’t perceived how he would appear standing up.

 

Her look of amazement made him smile; though he didn’t know the cause.  She was smaller than he’d guessed.  The way she moved and held herself gave the impression of someone taller.

 

“We got this far,” he said weakly.  “Where do we go now?”

 

She steered him slowly to her rocking chair, which she’d moved into a position where he could see the whole room plus have a view of the outside from the window.  Her body pressed full length against him as she settled him with care into the chair.  Their eyes met and held for a long moment.  She turned quickly back toward the stove.  “I have to start supper.”

 

He sat with unformed words clogging his throat watching her walk the length of the room.

 

She busied herself at the stove, realizing for the first time in her life how beguiling bronzed arms could be when protruding from the rolled up sleeves of an old nightshirt.  She tried to think of her cooking, only to be distracted time and again by the awareness of him.

 

He was so much more man, so much more mature than Conrad had been.  And he was attracted to her, too; she hadn’t imagined it.  For that brief revealing moment she had seen in his eyes as clearly as she could now see the meat sizzling in the pan.  Something sizzled between them as they’d stared at each other.  Desire?  Was that what it felt like?  Her heart caromed from the impact.  She felt it yet.  The awareness.  The pull.  The insistence.

 

But when he’d drawn the curtains over his eyes, she’d realized he would deny what he felt.

 

Most of the time.


	4. Chapter 4

Aaron Stempel was in a lousy mood.  His leg hurt no matter which way he shifted in the rocking chair.  The healing skin on his shoulder and arm itched like the devil and Sara had already chastised him several times for scratching.  He wanted to get out of this damn house but there was no way he could do that until he finished making the pair of crutches he was working on.  But the damn knife just didn’t fit his hand and…

 

“Ouch!”   The knife had slipped again and now he had a bleeding notch on his index finger.

 

“Aaron, am I going to have to come over there and sew you up again?”  She shot him an impish look.  She was seated at the table where she was trying to reconstruct his boot.  “It’s becoming a full time occupation.”

 

Popping the injured digit in his mouth, he stifled his curses.

 

With an exaggerated sigh, she set down the boot and crossed the room to him.  “Let me see.”

 

“It’s fine.”  It was difficult to achieve the right intimidating growl with a finger in his mouth, so he removed it and repeated.  “It’s fine.”

 

She wasn’t the least bit intimidated.  She held out her hand.  “Let me see.”

 

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he realized it would do him little good to be stubborn.  Sooner or later she would win.  He surrendered the hand.

 

“Told ya,” he grunted when she surveyed the slight wound.  “Just a scratch.”

 

She tilted her head.  “I’ll put some salve on it.  If you weren’t so clumsy, I wouldn’t have to keep patching you up.”

 

“I’m not clumsy,” he griped.  “It’s the…knife.”

 

“There’s _nothing_ wrong with the knife.  My father made it himself.”  A thoughtful look came over her face as she looked down at him.  Reaching down, she removed the knife from his hand.  Frowning, she transferred it from hand to hand.  She seemed to notice for the first time the ridges in the left side of the handle left by years of gripping fingers.  “Unless you try to use it with your left hand.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Aaron stared down at his hands.  His left-handedness had always been a sore spot.  Ever since he could remember, people – his parents, his teachers – had tried to force him to use his right hand.  At first he’d tried but his body’s natural preference had been too strong.  After that it had become a contest of wills.  He couldn’t count the number of times his knuckles were rapped because he was using the _wrong_ hand.  But he’d eventually out-stubborned them and they let him alone.

 

There were times he wished they’d succeeded.  It could be decidedly inconvenient to be left-handed.

 

“Do you do _everything_ with your left hand?”

 

“Do you do _everything_ with your right?” he countered.

 

She looked at her own hands in innocent wonder.  “I don’t know.  I never really thought about it.”

 

“Well, you’d think about it if you were left-handed in a right-handed world.”

 

“Yes,” she nodded.  “I suppose I would.  This is fascinating.”  A delighted grin lit her face.  “I’ve never known anyone who was left-handed.”

 

Aaron frowned, bemused.  Most people, when they noticed, seemed to think it marked him as different, slightly odd.  He’d never met anyone who was _happy_ he was left-handed.

 

“I’ll get you a different knife.  Maybe then you can refrain from making any new holes in your hide.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Jason, I think we might have found someone who knows something about Stempel,” Joshua pushed open the door of Lottie’s saloon. 

 

Rising to his feet, Jason turned to his brother with a resurgence of hope in his heart.  Another week had passed and still they had discovered no new information about Aaron’s disappearance.  They had about run out of places to search and people to question.  Only Jason still actively searched now.

 

“What?”

 

“I think we should talk in private, Jason.” Josh’s voice was low and his eyes intense.

 

Jason abruptly decided he really didn’t want to know what Josh had to say.

 

“What ever it is, I think we all have a right to know, Joshua.” Candy spoke for all in the room.

 

“Bring him in.”  Loggers half-dragged a trapper, hands tied securely, in the door.  The man looked at the suspicious faces surrounding him uneasily.

 

Josh reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny and handed it to Jason.  “We were out on the east ridge when this guy stopped to talk.  When he pulled that out we thought we should bring him back to town.”

 

With a sinking heart, Jason looked down at the glittering object in his hand.  It was a pocket-watch, heavy and expensive.  Although he wanted to deny it, he knew it was Aaron’s.  With shaking hands, he opened it.  There inside was an inscription, just starting to fade, ‘To Aaron, with all my love, Ellen’.  Jason was perhaps the only person in the room who knew Ellen had been Aaron’s fiancee before she’d been killed.

 

“How’d you get this?” Jason demanded, a biting edge on his voice.

 

The trapper’s fearful eyes darted about the room.  “Found it,” he mumbled.

 

Grabbing the man by the front of his shirt, Jason yelled, “Where?”

 

Defiance flashed momentarily in the man’s eyes then he dropped his head sullenly.  “Dead man.  Found him a couple days east of here, in the foothills.  Reckon a bear got him, he was tore up real bad.”

 

Pain ripped through the center of Jason’s chest.  _It couldn’t be ending like this, not like this._   “You sure he was dead?”

 

“Man don’t get much deader than that.”

 

“He was dead so you went through his pockets and stole everything you found.”  Jason gave the man a vicious shake.

 

“He was dead.  He wasn’t gonna need the watch no more.  But I gave him a decent burial.”

 

“What did he look like?”  Jason was still grasping at straws.

 

“Big man, black hair.  He dressed real fancy like, had ruffles on his shirt.”

 

“How do we know this guy’s telling the truth?” Harve, the mill foreman, exclaimed.  “He could have bushwhacked Aaron and robbed him, even killed Stempel himself.”

 

There was a murmur of agreement among the rough men around them.  The trapper cried in desperation, “A bear got him, I swear.  Paul, you know me.  I wouldn’t kill anyone.  I don’t even got a gun.”

 

The logger he had beseeched stepped forward.  “I know Yves, Mr. Bolt.  We trapped together one winter.  He’d never kill anyone.  Rob them blind, sure, but never kill them.”

 

Jason let his head drop for a moment as he struggled for control.  _At least now they knew the truth of what happened to Aaron.  The search was over_.

 

“Jason, it wasn’t your fault.”  Jeremy tried to soothe his brother’s pain.  “You couldn’t have known anything like this would happen.”

 

Nodding, Jason sighed sorrowfully, his big body slumped in defeat.  “It doesn’t matter who’s at fault.  Aaron’s still dead.  Harve, get that man outta here.  We’ll decide what to do with him later.  Ben, can you send a telegram to San Francisco?”

 

“San Francisco?”  Ben looked out of his own grief.

 

“Julie Stempel.  We have to let Julie know what happened.”

 

No one had thought about Aaron’s sister Julie since Aaron had turned up missing.  She had visited Seattle only once, but it had been a most memorable visit.  Her presence had sparked the historic fistfight between Aaron and Jason.  Any other time the mention of the Fight would bring a smile to the face of the residents of Seattle but now it brought only the glistening of tears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Aaron stood at the door of the cabin, contemplating the distance to the outhouse.  It seemed a very long way.  Sara was out hunting and the urge was strong.  Gingerly he tested his weak leg.  He had only begun to put any weight on it.  He wasn’t sure if it was up to the test that he was about to put to it.  But it was time to try.  He was growing annoyed at his helpless invalid role.

 

Slowly, leaning heavily on the crude crutches he had cut for himself, he made his way across the yard.  Halfway to his destination, he was drenched with sweat and his good leg trembled with the unaccustomed exercise.  He began to wonder if he ever got there if he would be able to get back.  He was glad no one from Seattle could see him now, the old nightshirt flapping about his legs, barely able to walk fifty feet.

 

After an eternity, he reached his destination.  Accomplishing what he came to do, he simply sat resting, regaining his wind and strength.  The long trip back to the cabin still lay ahead of him.  But he felt a flush of exhilaration at how far he’d been able to walk.  Still at this rate it would be weeks before he could contemplate the journey back to Seattle.  He wouldn’t be able to sit a horse now, not the way his leg was throbbing after walking only fifty feet, and he hadn’t even put any weight on it.

 

He pulled up the nightshirt to look at his thigh.  The swelling was completely gone now and the gashes had healed to slick, bluish-red weals, but it would never be the same straight strong limb it had once been.  The bone was healing slightly crooked, giving it a bowed appearance.  The knee moved without stiffness, though not without pain.  He hoped the pain would go away with time.

 

He lurched up to his feet in preparation for the trip back.  Halfway across the yard, he stopped for a moment simply enjoying the freshness of the day around him.  It had been weeks since he’d been outside.  The sun shone brightly, but the altitude kept a nip in the air.  Birds chirped around him, and in the tree above his head a squirrel scolded noisily.  He stood in wonder, smelling smells he’d never noticed before, hearing sounds he’d never taken time to listen to before.  Always he had been too busy to take notice, too many business deals, too many schemes and plans.  Although he’d lived in the area for more than five years and had ridden the trails often; he had never noticed the beauty of where he was.

 

_I’m starting to sound like Jason Bolt now,_ he laughed at himself.  He never would have admitted it to anyone but he was starting to miss the big logger.  He missed the sparring matches they'd had; the challenge that Bolt had always represented.  He wondered if Bolt was concerned about his disappearance.  Surely they’d noticed he was overdue by now.  And in a way the accident was Bolt’s fault.  He never would have been on that trail if it hadn’t been for Bolt.  He’d been suspicious of Bolt’s unexpected solicitude but he’d decided a business opportunity was a business opportunity no matter who proffered it.  At the very least, Bolt would owe him a favor when he got back.  Aaron laughed.  If he could play on Bolt’s guilt well enough, he could have the big man groveling for mercy.

 

He laughed again, a grand feeling filling his chest until it felt like exploding.  He was alive.  He had never felt so alive in his life.  Inches from death, one child had fanned the spark of life back into his body.  _Wasn’t it wonderful?_

 

As he grunted and hitched his way back to the cabin, his thought turned to the girl who had saved his life.  It troubled him the amount of time he spent thinking about her.  He supposed it was a hazard of having so much time on his hands and nothing to occupy his mind.  But he couldn’t help smiling again at his memory of Sara’s face, giggling at something over breakfast this morning.  It was times when she appeared the most innocent that he was most attracted to her, when she wore that scarf today tied tightly beneath her chin, or last night when she caught her hair up in a crisp wide ribbon and let it fall free over her collar.  And of course, when she looked at him across a dimly lit kitchen with big green eyes that refused to admit the obvious reasons why the two of them must fight the attraction they felt for one another.

 

He knew the way he felt was not right, but he couldn’t stop his pulse from racing every time she looked at him with that light in her eyes.  He was almost old enough to be her father, not to mention she was a married woman, but she aroused feelings in him that no woman had in a long time, perhaps ever.  And he knew she was as aware of him as a man as he was of her as a woman. 

 

He looked up, and his chest tightened fearfully, for she stood in the doorway watching him.  _God, she was beautiful_.  She had let that reddish hair down so that it flowed in heavy curls to the middle of her back.  Small and gracefully slender, she didn’t lack the soft round curves of a woman.  Even the boyish clothes could not disguise the youthful bloom of womanhood.  He realized he could not stay here much longer without betraying them both.

 

Sara’s eyes strayed then came back to meet his.  She studied the cloth pulled taut across broad shoulders, black hair curling down over his collar, sleeves rolled to elbows upon arms limned with dark hair, the wide wrists and long strong fingers.  She knew the swift intimidating yearning of a woman who feels herself drawn to a man she should not be drawn to.

 

“You traipsed all the way out there by yourself.” She grinned delightedly at his accomplishment.

 

“I needed to…” Embarrassed, he gestured vaguely back toward the outhouse.

 

“Oh, I see.” She hid her grin behind her hand.  Her grin vanished when she noticed his face begin to pale and his body start to sway.  “Are you alright?”

 

“A little dizzy,” he breathed.

 

“Dizzy?  Don’t you _dare_ pass out here.  Get back into bed right now.  I’d never be able to budge you if you collapsed out here.”

 

He stumped his way up the stairs and all went well until he came to a hooked rug that lay by the doorway.  One crutch caught it and he began to waver.  She hurried across, grabbed him by the middle to keep him from tipping over, and when he steadied, went down on one knee to remove the rug.  But the crutch was still planted on it, holding it down.

 

“I can’t pick it up.  Can you move the crutch?”  she asked, looking up the long length of him.  It was a long, long way indeed to the top of that length, and she warned, “Mr. Stempel, if you tip over on top of me, I’ll _never_ forgive you.”

 

“There’d be nothin’…left to forgive…with.  You’d be…squashed.”  He swayed against the doorjamb as one crutch crashed to the floor.

 

“Quick, get to bed,” she ordered, taking his arm over her shoulders.  He was as tall as a barn door and nearly as broad at the shoulders, but they made it to the bed all right and sat down on the edge side by side.  She unwound her arm from her shoulder and rose.

 

He heaved a sigh of relief when he reached the solid support of the bed.  Flopping back on the bed, she helped him lift his trembling legs to the bed’s surface.  Hating to feel this helpless, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it now, he gave in to his exhaustion and fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Evening came and Aaron grew bored and listless.  Sara had gone somewhere; he could hear her making a lot of watery noises, but couldn’t see her.  He got up with the crutches and came to find her leaning over the back step, washing her hair.  He stood looking at her, kneeling on the earth with her head over a basin.  The hollow at the nape of her neck held some soap suds, and he found it hard to take his eyes off it.  He inched by her, causing her to sidestep on her knees.

 

She was gone, pan and all, when he came back to the cabin.  He felt weak again, and went straight to his bed, making up his mind that he must continue to work up his strength by staying up longer each time with the crutches.  He sank down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair.  It itched.  That shampoo had looked mighty inviting.

 

“Sara,” he called, but the cabin was quiet.  “Can you hear me?”

 

No answer.

 

“Do you think I could get a shampoo, too?”

 

There still was no answer but he could hear the steps creak outside.

 

Aaron was bored to death and wished she’d come back in and keep him company.  He was tired of reading and there really wasn’t much else he could do.  He longed for a beer at Lottie’s and a little company.

 

Sara stood drying her hair in the light breeze, fluffing it with a thick towel.  How many Saturday nights had she washed her hair and combed it dry, gone to bed early and wished to be doing something else?  Something with a man.  Now she had a captive audience.  Why did she both fear to be with him and want to spend every minute in his company?

 

She heard him call, saying he wanted a shampoo, too.  He couldn’t stand up long enough to have his hair washed.  How long had it been since he’d had his hair washed?  Weeks!  She remembered how she’d promised when he was unconscious that she’d wash it for him.

 

“You want a shampoo?”  She entered the cabin.

 

“It would really feel good.”

 

“Well, you can’t stand up long enough but maybe we can figure out another way.  Come on.”

 

He maneuvered himself back out of the bed, grabbed his crutches and followed her to the porch.

 

“Sit down,” she instructed.

 

With some effort, he flopped down.  With quick hands she arranged him so he was lying on his back, his head dangling over the edge of the steps.  She stuffed a small pillow under the nape of his neck, so his head was now supported.  Unceremoniously, she dumped a basin full over cool water over his hair.

 

“Hey,” he protested.

 

“You wanted this, so be still.”

 

He shut his eyes and let himself enjoy the feeling of her hands in his hair as she massaged in the soap.

 

“What do you do for a living, Aaron?”  She asked no personal questions up to this point and he had volunteered no information.  But she’d wondered all the same.  He had been wearing businessman’s clothes when she found him, but his hands were callused by hard work.

 

“I own a mill.” He answered after a moment’s hesitation.

 

“A mill?” she asked in confusion.

 

“Sawmill.” He grinned at her ignorance.  “Saws trees into lumber.”

 

Her eyes brightened in interest.  “I’ve never seen a sawmill.  I’ve never seen much of anything.  Tell me about it.”

 

“Not much to tell.  The loggers bring the trees down from the mountain and we saw them up.”  His eyes clouded a bit.  “I wonder who’s taking care of the mill.  I hope Julie hasn’t sold it.”

 

Sara was shocked.  “No one would sell your mill, would they?”

 

“Well, probably not yet.  But they would eventually if they thought I was dead.”

 

“Oh, Aaron, I’m sorry.  I thought about riding down to the Trading Post, but it’s a full days ride and they don’t have a telegraph anyway.”

 

“Not your fault.” He replied brusquely.  He didn’t want to think about starting over again at this stage of his life.  “How did you get to be staying here?  All by yourself?”

 

She hesitated, wondering how much she should tell him.  “I grew up here.” She raised the pitcher, rinsing the suds from his hair.  “When I was fifteen, Mother decided it would be better for me if we moved to a city, where I could be around people my own age.”  Wrapping a towel around his head, she rubbed briskly.  “Father was an artist, a painter, so it didn’t matter to him where we lived.”  Her hands stilled a moment.  “They were killed in a carriage accident six months later.”

 

Awkwardly, Aaron raised a hand, reaching for her but not quite connecting.

 

“When Conrad and I got married, we came back here.”

 

He brushed the towel from his eyes.  “And where is this Conrad now?”

 

Stricken with panic, she thought quickly.  Could she tell him the truth?  Did she trust him enough for that?  _Oh, no, not yet_.  “San Francisco.  He thought the winter furs would sell for a higher price there.”  Oh, God, she’d turned into such a liar.  “Sit up and I’ll comb your hair out.”

 

“I can do it myself,” he offered but she waved away his hand.

 

He closed his eyes and turned his head this way and that when she told him to.  _What a Saturday night_ , he thought, _getting my hair washed by someone else’s wife_. 

 

“I can’t reach the back.  Tilt your head forward.”

 

He did as instructed.  The combing made goose pimples shiver up his arms.  It was deliciously relaxing.  In his drowsy thoughts, he wondered about Sara, thought of other things he might say to her, but then he realized the combing had stopped.  He looked up.

 

Their eyes met.  Something good happened between them.  Something warm and rich and radiant that held the promise of enjoyment.  Matching grins grew on their lips.

 

And they both turned away.


	5. Chapter 5

Sara had spent most of the day trailing a deer.  She brought it down just before noon.  It had taken her most of the rest of the day to dress the animal, load the skin and meat onto her horse and make her way back the cabin.  As she walked up, she saw a lantern burning in the window, lighting the interior with a warm glow.  She entered the house silently then stood stock still, intrigued.

 

She saw only half of Aaron’s back.  The woolen shirt that had once been her father’s stretched taut over his shoulders, as he bent forward in the old chair with his elbows resting on widespread knees.  He held something in his hands and appeared to be polishing it, his shoulders rocking rhythmically.  He bent, dropping a hand to a can between his feet and she tiptoed one step further, bringing him fully into view.  She watched the play of muscles in his arms below the rolled-up sleeves as he resumed his task.  A strip of black leather dangled from his fingers and he worked it, it’s hardware setting up a repetitious ching.  He was polishing the spare bridle she’d brought in this morning, meaning to do the task herself this evening.  The room was close, warm and smelled of saddle soap and oil and horses.

 

He looked so at home here, so different from the way he looked when she first found him with his fancy ruffled shirt and expensive boots.  But he looked lonely, too.  His hands stopped moving, but he sat on as before, as if absently studying the rag in his hands.  She held her breath and remained stark still.  She could hear him breathing and wondered what he thought about as he sat in solitude with his head bowed low.

 

“Aaron?”

 

He flew from the chair and spun to face her, balancing awkwardly on his good leg, sending the can skittering and the chair balancing on two legs.  Even before it settled to the floor again, he was blushing.

 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

He’d been sitting there thinking of her, and having her appear silently behind him was startling, yes.  Her hands were clasped behind her back, bringing her breasts into prominence and even though he kept his eyes skewered on hers, he was still terribly aware of them.

 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she indicated the bridle he still held in his hands.

 

He shrugged his shoulders.  “I had nothin’ better to do.  If you’re hungry, there’s some food on the stove.”

 

“You cooked?”  She was surprised and delighted by his thoughtfulness.

 

He grunted, not sure he liked being caught in a good deed.  “I’m not totally helpless.  I got hungry so I made somethin’ to eat.”

 

He sat back down in the chair, leaning back, watching her at the stove.  He smiled privately as her derriere pointed his way.  The back of her calves came into view above her soft moccasins.  He assessed her slim ankles, thinking again she was a damned fine looking girl.  Realizing what he was thinking, he shut his eyes completely and thought, _this girl isn’t for you, Stempel_.  She straightened and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, her breasts thrown in sharp relief.  _Dammit, Stempel, get your carcass healed and out of here!_

 

She spooned some of the stew onto a plate and sat down at the table.  They sat silently, neither able to find anything to say to the other.  All he could think about was how fetching she looked in the lantern light and how her eyes came alight and how he liked the pert tilt of her nose.

 

“Tell me about Seattle, Aaron,” she said just to break the silence.

 

He looked at her in surprise.  “How’d you know I was from Seattle?”

 

“You told me.  When you were sick.”

 

He flushed and wondered what else he might have said.  “How far is Seattle from here?”

 

“About a three day ride, I think.  But I’ve never been there so I’m not sure.”  She was a little nervous about the subject.  It was the first time they’d gotten close to talking about him leaving.

 

“Three days,” he repeated thoughtfully.  He was nowhere near ready to make a three-day ride.  He could barely manage standing for more than 10 minutes at a time.

 

“Is Seattle a big town?”

 

He laughed, “No, right now it’s not much more than a wide spot in the road.  But it will be some day.  Some day it’ll be a _real_ city.”

 

It was the first time she had seen real enthusiasm from him.  Her head tilted in wonderment.  “Like San Francisco?”

 

“ _Bigger_ than San Francisco.” He boasted.  “Did you like San Francisco?”

 

Her eyes clouded.  “No.  Not after my parents died.”

 

“Is that where you met your husband?”

 

“Yes, I met Conrad there.  My aunt arranged it.  She felt any girl over the age of fifteen should be married so she found me a husband as soon as she could.”

 

Turning his head, he tried to conceal the jealousy that flashed through him.  He didn’t want to think of her with another man, holding him, kissing him.  “Is he good to you?”

 

He saw pain in her eyes and felt helpless.  He sorely felt the lack in himself that prevented him from comforting her.  “I’m sorry,” he said lamely.

 

Her face was lit from above by the golden lantern light.  He noticed for the first time the dusting of freckles across the crest of her cheeks.  Coupled with her dark studious eyes, they gave her a guileless look of innocent youth.  Had she been laughing or angry, his heart might not have fluttered.  But her expression was sad.

 

“No reason for you to be sorry,” she replied briskly.  “I’ve done nicely here.  Are you married?”

 

His head jerked up, not expecting that question.  “No.”

 

“Ever have been?”

 

“No, I’ve never been married.  I was engaged once, but she was killed.”  He rarely allowed himself to think of Ellen, but now the pain gripped his chest as if it had happened yesterday.  _Ah, Ellen, I thought I was over you_.

 

Without warning she placed a hand on his arm and her expression became tender.  Something awkward happened to his heart, and it felt like her light touch was singeing his skin.  He tried to drag his gaze away but failed.

 

“Surely there must be _someone_ worried about you.”  This was the question she had wondered about since she found him.  “You’ve been missing for weeks now.  Don’t you have any family in Seattle?”

 

He had wondered about the same question himself.  Would anyone worry about his absence?  Not likely, he figured.  They would probably have a party to celebrate his disappearance.  “I’ve got a sister who lives in San Francisco.  But we’ve never been close.”

 

“Would that be the Julie you mentioned earlier?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What about Jason?  Is he your brother?”

 

“Jason?”  He laughed a little.  “No, I don’t have any brothers.  Jason’s a…” he fought for the words to describe Jason Bolt and their relationship.  _Maybe it was a little like sibling rivalry_.  “Jason’s a business rival.”

 

A frown marred her brow.  “But you must be close friends.”

 

He chuckled.  “I don’t know if anyone would call us close.”

 

“When you were really sick, you asked me to tell Jason what happened to you.  It seemed very important to you.”

 

Again he worried about what else he might have said while in the grip of fever.  Well, what was done was done.  There was nothing he could do about it now.  He thought about her questions about Jason Bolt and grinned a little.  “I guess Jason is kinda important.  If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have stayed in Seattle.”

 

She leaned forward with eager eyes.

 

“My father bought the mill not long before he died.  I was named the executor of his will, so when he died, I went to Seattle to take a look at it.  It wasn’t worth much then.  The equipment was old and everything was falling apart.  It would have taken a lot of money to make it a going concern and I had my own business.  So I planned to find a buyer as soon as I could.  Then I met Jason Bolt.”

 

He looked across at her rapt eyes.  He was a little amazed at himself.  He generally found it difficult to relax with people and he rarely talked about himself.  But with Sara it came easily.

 

“He convinced you to stay?” she inquired.

 

“Not the way you think.”  He grinned.  Something had raised his hackles the moment he’d laid eyes on the logger.  Even now he wasn’t sure what it had been.  Maybe it had been the big man’s confident, charming smile.  Maybe it was his air of being King of the Mountain.  Or maybe it was the younger brothers who stood ever ready to support him.  Whatever it had been Aaron had responded to the challenge in the bright blue eyes.  And he had decided to stay until he’d made the other man back down.  “I offered to buy his mountain and he refused to sell.  Bolt offered to buy the mill and I said no. Since then we’ve had our own little civil war.  A few frontal assaults but mostly flank attacks, a little guerrilla warfare, maneuvering for the advantage.”

 

“Have you made him surrender yet?”

 

“Not hardly.  And I guess I don’t really want him to anymore,” he admitted. 

 

Sara smiled, then stretched and yawned.  It had been a long day and she was tired.  After they cleaned up the dishes, she noticed what else he had been doing while she was gone.  In her absence his bedding had been removed and her best quilt was back on the bed in which he had been sleeping.

 

“Aaron?”

 

He knew her question before she asked it.  “I moved out to the stable.  It’s more respectable that way.”

 

She shrugged and made her way to bed, too tired to argue with him now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sara trudged to the cabin in the early evening.  Disappointment weighed her steps for there had been only two animals in her traps today, both of them with poor coats.  She would have to move her trap-lines soon, for the animals were moving.  But moving farther afield could mean moving into another trapper’s territory and she didn’t want to risk anyone else knowing she was here.

 

Which brought her to another problem.  Aaron was rapidly regaining his strength and as much as she tried to block the thought from her mind, would soon be leaving.  How much could she trust him?  Could she trust him not to tell anyone of her hiding place? 

 

The sharp ring of an ax attracted her attention.  It sounded quite close and Sara knew no one who would be chopping wood this near her home.  She hurried on, a small lump of fear in her throat. Strangers this close could only mean trouble.

 

The lump changed from fear to something else when she came into the yard.  Aaron stood, his shirt stripped off to expose his body to the warmth of the afternoon sun, suspenders crossing his bare chest, his dark skin gleaming with sweat.  He worked the big ax with grace, already having split a fair-sized pile.  His bad leg seemed no hindrance as he swept the ax down on a log.  Reaching down with the ax, he tapped the end of one of the halves and lifted it up to the block so he wouldn’t have to bend over.

 

Sara couldn’t keep her eyes from the shaggy head, the dark torso, and the flexing arms.  The muscles in his arms bunched and hardened with the blow of his ax, the cords of his neck stood out, and the veins of his arms became defined each time he poised with the ax at its apex above his head.  From behind, she watched his shoulder muscles gather in ridges at each fall of the ax, relax with the release then bunch again.

 

He bent to brush away some errant wood chip or branch, leaning on the ax handle, his bad leg balanced behind him.  And Sara found her eyes drawn to the spot where the shadow of his spine widened and disappeared into the back of the britches he wore.  Then without warning, he turned and she lowered her gaze from the sparkle of sun on the dark hairs of his chest to the line where it tapered down his abdomen.

 

He buried the ax into the chopping block and bending awkwardly, collected an armload of firewood.  She watched, unnoticed, while he filled the box outside the door.  He had lost weight since he’d been here, making the muscles of his back and stomach clearly defined.

 

Finished filling the wood box, he made his way to the pump.  Keeping her eyes on him, she crossed the yard behind his back to the steps of the cabin.  Shucking the suspenders, he sent them swinging, then started pumping.  With widespread feet, he leaned over the stream of pure icy water that splattered onto the dirt below.  Alternately pumping and washing, he doused his face, splashed his chest, arms and neck, and then drank from his cupped palms.

 

When he straightened and turned, he found Sara on the steps, watching him.  _Damn her and her pussyfooting._   She stood still as a stork with the fingertips of one hand lightly toughing the handrail, the other palm clasping her elbow.  Their gazes met and locked while he slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then became conscious of his bare, wet chest and the suspenders hanging down his thighs.  He grabbed the flannel shirt from the ground, did a cursory toweling, then slipped it on and began button it, all the while wishing she would move or at least stop staring.

 

He knew she had seen him with a whole lot less clothes on than this.  Lord knows how much she’d seen of him when he was sick!  But this felt different.  For one thing he was awake and could feel those wide eyes on him.  It was making his skin burn.

 

“What are you staring at?” he growled.  “Never seen a man wash before?”

 

Yes, she had.  There had been times she’d seen her father’s chest bare but it hadn’t been nearly as broad as Aaron’s.  And though Conrad had worn suspenders, they’d never dangled at his thighs like dropped reins.  And watching Conrad wash up was nothing whatever like watching Aaron pelt water over himself with such heedlessness that it went flying through the air, ran down his chest, and dripped from his temples and elbows.

 

But Aaron’s heedlessness stopped abruptly when he spotted her.

 

She grew bemused by the sudden haste he showed in getting the shirt on and buttoned.  Hadn’t she seen him in the all-together before?  Well, once, when he had been unconscious, in a moment of girlish curiosity she’d peeked under the cover.  And he was probably better off not knowing that.

 

Aaron hung his head and half-turned away while stuffing the shirttails into his britches, snapping the suspenders back into place, and combing his hair with his fingers.  At last he turned.

 

She wished she were more experienced so she’d know how to handle the feelings that seemed to be springing up restlessly within her.  She wanted to touch his gleaming hair, lift his chin and study his eyes at close range, hear his laugh and his voice speaking gently of what mattered most to him.  She wanted to hear her name on his lips.  But above all, she wanted to be touched by him.  Just once, to find out if it would be a heady as she imagined.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason was waiting for Julie Stempel when Captain Clancey’s ship pulled up to the pier.  The day was dark and drizzling, matching Jason’s mood.  Julie stood at the rail of the ship, looking as poised and regally beautiful as the last time Jason had seen her, but he was aware of how white her knuckles were as they clutched the rail and the puffy redness around her eyes.

 

He bounded up the rail and offered her his hand.

 

“Hello, Jason,” came her subdued greeting.  “I’m glad you could meet me.”

 

“I’m glad you could come.  I just wish…”

 

Placing one small hand against his lips, she shushed him.  “No, Jason.  Not yet.  I don’t…I can’t think about it yet.”

 

“All right.” He tenderly kissed her fingers then took her arm and guided her down the gangway.  He tried to send some of his strength to her as she leaned on his arm.  Together they walked silently into town, Jason steering her away from the cold forbidding sight of Aaron’s empty house, knowing she wasn’t ready yet for that.  He headed her toward the warmer neutrality of Lottie’s saloon.

 

The small Seattle family was waiting for them when they arrived.  Candy pushed a cup of coffee into each of their hands while Josh and Jeremy gave Julie a sorrowful hug.  Lottie settled her into a chair, and started small talk, trying to ease the tension and avoid talking about the tragedy that had brought them all here.  The rest joined in, asking about the voyage, chatting about anything they could think of.  But not even Clancey’s tales when he joined the group could lift the oppressive atmosphere.  Julie responded numbly, accepting their support silently.

 

Abruptly Julie reached out and grasped Jason’s sleeve.  “Are you _sure_ , Jason?  Are you _absolutely_ sure?  There’s _no_ hope?”

 

Jason swallowed hard then reluctantly nodded.  “About as sure as we can be.  We talked to the man who buried him.  We’ve looked for the grave but we haven’t been able to find it yet.  But we will and we’ll bring him home.”

 

Suddenly her brave front collapsed and the sobs she had been suppressing for days escaped her.  Jason knelt down and gathered her to his chest, feeling her tears soak into his shirt.

 

“It’s all right, Julie, cry all you want.  We understand.”

 

“How could this have happened, Jason?” she gasped between sobs.

 

“It’s my fault, Julie.  If it hadn’t been for me, Aaron wouldn’t have been out there.”

 

Lottie turned on him sharply.  “Jason, don’t say that.”

 

“Oh, Jason, I don’t blame you.”  She smiled slightly through her tears.  “I know you would never purposely hurt Aaron.  Infuriate him, but not hurt him.  But _I_ did and I can’t forget…”

 

He smoothed her blonde hair tenderly.  “You mean that little trick we played on him…” At the time it had been a grand joke, courting Aaron’s sister for the express purpose of annoying Aaron.  But it had gone a little too far and had almost gotten Jason into a marriage he didn’t want and did get him into a fight he could never forget.

 

Julie’s sobs had begun to ease but now came back full force.  “He’s gone, Jason.  He’s gone and he’ll never know.  I never told him.”

 

“What didn’t you tell him?” Lottie gently probed, instinctively feeling Julie’s need to tell someone what she had bottled up inside of herself.

 

“That I cared about him!  That I loved him!  He was my brother and I never _once_ told him I loved him.”  Julie choked with the force of her sobs and her shoulders shook so hard Jason feared she might do herself damage.

 

“Oh, Julie, Julie.  I understand.”  Jason’s voice threatened to quit but he struggled gamely on.  “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t have some regrets.”

 

“But _I_ knew, Jason,” she cried.  “I knew why.  I should have understood.  But I was too angry and selfish to see the truth.”

 

Jason waited for the sobs to quiet.  Lottie leaned over his shoulder and offered quietly, “Do you want to go in the back room?  It’s private.”

 

Gratefully Julie took the handkerchief Candy offered and drying her eyes, breathed a heartfelt sigh.  “No, Lottie, thank you.  I think I want to be with my friends.  With Aaron’s friends.”

 

They all sat, pulling their chairs into an extended family circle.

 

“Did Aaron ever tell you about how he grew up?”

 

Jason shook his head.  “Aaron was a very private person.”

 

“I’m not surprised.”  She smiled a heartbroken smile.  “Aaron would have a fit if he knew I was going to tell you this.  But maybe you’d understand him better if you knew.

 

“When I was a child, we lived in a big house, in the best part of town.  We even had servants.  Every day one of them walked me to the finest school in the city.  I had a multitude of dolls and toys and a whole wardrobe full of pretty clothes.  I had everything a little girl could want.  Then not long after my sixth birthday, Father left.  I don’t know why, no one explains things like that to a six-year-old.  Just one day he was gone.”

 

“That must have been horrible.” Lottie sympathized, laying her hand on Julie’s arm.

 

“One by one the servants left.  Then we had to move out of the big house.  We moved across town to where the poor people lived.  And I had to go to poor people’s school.  I was one very unhappy little girl.  I blamed everything on Aaron.”

 

“Why?” Jason asked gently.

 

“Because Mama said Aaron was the man of the house while Father was gone.  He was supposed to take care of us and as far as I could see he wasn’t doing a very good job.”  Julie’s pale cheeks darkened with shame.

 

“You were only six, Julie.” Jason stroked her hair comfortingly.

 

“And Aaron wasn’t quite fourteen.”  She paused to let the words sink in.  “ _Fourteen_ , Jason.  A little young to be trying to support a family.”

 

“What about your mother?”

 

“Oh, Mother,” Julie sighed.  “I’m afraid mother wasn’t much help.  As long as I can remember she’d had spells where she’d be very sad and blue.  It got worse after Father left.  She’d sit and stare out the window for hours, never saying a word.  Or there were days when Aaron would get me ready for school and when I’d get back Mama would still be in bed.  She had good days, days when she’d cook, walk me to school or read for me but they got farther apart the longer Father was gone.

 

“You’re right, Jason.  I was only six.  I didn’t understand.  I only knew things had changed and I didn’t like it.  It didn’t matter to me that Aaron had to quit school to go to work; I didn’t have my nanny anymore.  It didn’t matter that Aaron came home with his hands blistered and bloody from his job at the tanners; I didn’t have pretty new dresses to wear anymore.  It didn’t matter that sometimes Aaron didn’t eat so that mother and I could; I didn’t have my Papa.  And you know what I hated most?  My laughing, teasing big brother who used to give me horsy rides and play games with me, the one who taught me how to tie my shoes and write my name, was now bossing me around and telling me what to do.  He was always angry and he had no time to do the things that used to be fun.  And I was mad at him for changing.”

 

Julie paused, sipping gingerly from the cup of coffee Candy placed in her hand, lost in painful memories. 

 

“He did it because he loved you.” Jason interjected.

 

Julie nodded slowly.  “You said something like that before I left the last time I was here.  He did it because he loved us.   I thought about what you said for a long time when I got home.  And I saw things differently than that six-year-old did.  But I waited too long to tell Aaron.”  She hid her face behind her hands.  “And _now_ he’ll never know.”

 

She let a soft huff of laughter.  “Listen to me.  I was going to tell you about Aaron and here all I’ve been doing is talking about myself.  Tell me about him.  I never took the time to really know him and now it’s too late.  You probably knew him better than me.”

 

Jason leaned back in his chair, warming his hands on the coffee cup.  “He was stubborn and cynical and there wasn’t a man alive I’d rather have at my back when there was trouble.”

 

The others nodded in agreement.

 

“He had a quick temper,” Candy spoke.  “He was inclined to jump to conclusions, to believe the worst of people.”

 

“But if you could get him to calm down, he’d listen to reason.  And once he was convinced he’d back you all the way.”  Lottie interjected.

 

“Once Joshua and I were shanghaied,” Jeremy spoke for the first time.  “Aaron and Jason rescued us.  They were almost killed doing it.  He didn’t have to do that.”

 

“He tried to say it was because he couldn’t afford for the mill to be idle, but it wasn’t true.  He did it because he cared.”

 

“Aaron was very generous with his friends.”  Lottie added.  She saw all the wide-eyed stares of her friends.  “Well, he was.  Once he lent me all the cash he had, twenty-five hundred dollars.  I know he didn’t believe the reasons I gave him but he gave me the money anyway.”

 

“He put in fifteen hundred dollars for the ransom when Clancey was kidnapped.”

 

“Stempel did that?!” Clancey was shocked and deeply touched.

 

“Yes, he did.” Candy answered.

 

“Do you remember the time…”

 

The warm reminiscing took the bitter edge off their grief.  They relaxed for the first time since they’d discovered Aaron missing. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sara could tell by the noises coming from the stable that Aaron was awake and tending to the stock.  When he came in with the pails of milk, she reminded herself she would have to find time soon to sew him more clothes.  Her father’s old clothes were old and worn and didn’t fit Aaron well.  She thought of the doeskins she had kept rolled up, saving them for something special.  They’d make him a fine shirt.

 

He stood before the mirror, her brush in his hand, trying to brush his hair into place.  Without the oil he usually put in it and the fact that it was getting too long, made it virtually impossible to control the curl.

 

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into giving me a haircut.”

 

“Nope,” said Sara, taking the brush away from him and ruffling his hair with her fingers, undoing his effort .  “I like it that way.  Makes you look rugged.”

 

“I think it looks undignified,” he grumbled, but he sat down at the table with only a parting glance at the mirror.

 

She made plans for his shirt in her head as they ate breakfast.

 

Looking serious and distracted, she made his pulse speed and his body heat unexpectedly.  When he was with her, he felt as young and randy as he had as a teenager.  He looked at her sweet young face, felt the strength of his healing muscles and knew he must think of leaving soon.

 

He helped her clean up the breakfast mess.  A month ago he would have felt the chore beneath him, but now since there was little he could do to help with the more manly chores, he could hardly set and let her do everything.  So he had taken to doing what he could, washing dishes, chopping wood, milking the cow.  Her obsessive sloppiness had offended his equally obsessive neatness, so he had taken to tidying the cabin in her long absences.  He found it hard to believe how domestic he had become.  Next he would be doing the laundry.

 

She gathered up what she would need for today’s visit to her trap-line.  Impishly she thought of kissing the man who stood stiffly with his back toward her good-bye.  No, she didn’t think he would appreciate that.

 

She stood too close; he could smell the mysterious scent that was hers alone.  Everything hung too heavy and silent between them.  He shoved his hands in his pockets.  When he was in danger of touching her, he had to say something – anything to keep from his own folly.

 

“I’ll get Chipper ready.”

 

Silently they tied the saddle roll and her equipment to the saddle.  She swung up into the saddle to find the stirrups about a foot too long.  She knew what that meant.  Aaron had been trying to ride again.  He still couldn’t stand more than a few minutes in the saddle, the pressure too much on his injured thigh.  But it wouldn’t be long before he was strong enough, healed enough to leave.

 

“I forgot to shorten them.  Sorry.”

 

He reached down for the leather straps, shortening them for her.  He stood by the stirrup, wanting to prolong their time together, wishing there were other favors he could do for her.  It had been years since he’d felt this compulsion to be chivalrous.  He’d thought it was something a man feels only when he’s young and raring.  What a shock to experience it again at his age.  He felt her gaze following him as he moved about the horse, but controlled the urge to look up.  To do so would be disastrous.  But when he could think of nothing more to do for her, he stood staring at her delicate foot.

 

How long had it been since he’d wanted to touch a woman this badly?  Suppose he touched her – a simple touch, just once – what harm could come of that?  He reached for her ankle.  It was warm and firm through the leather of her moccasins.  His thumb bracketed her heel tendons, rubbing gently.  There was no mistaking the touch for anything but what it was – a lingering caress.  Nor was there any mistaking the fact that she sat with bated breath, waiting for him to look up, to go one step father, to lift his hands and help her down.  He thought of her name – the name he refused to allow himself to call her now lest it break down barriers better left unbroken.  If he said it, if he lifted his eyes, he was certain of what would follow.  Mistakes.

 

“Aaron,” she whispered.

 

Abruptly, he dropped her foot and stepped back, realizing his folly.  He stuffed his hands into his pockets.  When he looked up, his face was just as impersonal as usual.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, when Sara reached the barn it was dark and silent.  She lit a lantern, but she had scarcely begun work removing the saddle from her horse, when Aaron appeared silently behind her.

 

“You’re late.”

 

She jumped and spun, pressing a hand to her heart.  She found him leaning against the doorway; his arms crossed loosely, a forbidding expression on his face.

 

“Oh, Aaron, I didn’t know you were there.”

 

He’d been so worried.  Pacing, listening for hoofbeats, wondering what could have happened to her.  Her safe arrival brought relief, but along with it an irrational anger.  “Haven’t you got more sense than to stay out this long?  Anything could have happened to you.”

 

He stood close enough to touch but his face wore a mask of displeasure.

 

“I’ve lived here most of my life, Aaron.  I can take care of myself.  I’m sorry I worried you.  I didn’t know you’d be up waiting.”

 

“I wasn’t up waiting.”

 

But he had and they both knew it.  While he scowled down at her she felt it again, that wild wondrous new thing that filled her breast to bursting.

 

_Blast it, girl, don’t look at me that way_ , he thought, looking down into her somber face that hid little of what she was feeling.  His heart pounded.  His hands itched to touch her.  He wanted to say he was sorry he’d shouted – it had little to do with her being out late.  Instead he reached for the saddle.

 

“You go on up to the house,” he ordered.  “I’ll see to Chipper.  There’s food on the stove.”

 

“Thank you, Aaron,” she replied softly.

 

He nodded silently, concentrating solely on his task.

 

She studied him as he turned away, but again he closed himself away from her.  _Why are you so afraid of what we’re beginning to feel,_ she wondered?  _It’s nothing to be afraid of.  And you were waiting to see that I arrived home safely.  You were, Aaron Stempel, whether you’ll admit it or not._

 

But she kept her thought to herself and slipped quietly from the barn, leaving him to wrestle with his emotions.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A short time later, in her cabin, Sara prepared for bed with an odd feeling, like she’d swallowed a goose egg.  Had she only imagined it this last week with him?  No, she hadn’t.  He’d been aware of it, too.  When she’d watched him wash at the well.  And this morning in the yard when he’d held her ankle.

 

It was awful

 

It was awesome.

 

It was – she grew more certain by the hour – desire.

 

She blew out the lantern and went to bed to consider it.  Flat on her back, she could feel her heartbeat, heavy and fast against the quilt.  She conjured up Aaron’s naked back as he’d leaned to throw water on his shoulders…his chest when he’d turned around with water dripping down it…his thick hair as he’d moved about the horse refusing to look up and meet her eyes.

 

He had felt it, too.  That was why he was afraid to look up, to say her name, to answer when she’d spoken.

 

She closed her eyes and subtracted twenty from thirty-six.  Sixteen.  He had lived and experienced almost twice what she had.  There were so many things she wanted to know and be for him that by virtue of her immaturity she could not know or be.

 

Suddenly she was smitten by a strong wave of jealousy for his advanced age.  Stubborn man that he was, he would probably never follow his instincts.  Distraught, she rolled up on one elbow and gazed down at the white blot of her pillow in the dark.  What was she to do?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason and Julie walked hand-in-hand back toward town, both dressed in their best clothes.  They had just concluded the memorial service for Aaron.  Everyone knew there was no body beneath the fine headstone Julie had purchased, but it provided a place for them all to gather and share their grief.

 

“That was a very nice eulogy, Jason.”  Julie spoke to the ground.

 

Jason shrugged.  “Every word of it was true.”

 

“You have a way with words.”   She tilted her head to look up at him.

 

He shrugged again.  “Words.  Words don’t seem to be much comfort these days.”

 

“I know what you mean.”  Her gaze wandered about the town then came back to him.  “Do you think he was happy here?  Aaron always seemed to be looking for something he couldn’t find.  Do you think he might have found it here?”

 

“Happy?” Jason considered thoughtfully.  “Oh, Julie, I don’t know.”  He looked up to the bright blue sky.  He thought of the years he had known Aaron Stempel.  The years which had seen their relationship change from outright enmity to an uneasy alliance to tentative friendship.  “I think he was finding his way to happiness.  It wasn’t an easy road for him, but I think he was finding his way.”

 

The first real smile since Julie had been there curved her mouth.  “I’m glad.”

 

“He was well-respected here.  A lot of people looked up to him.”

 

“That was very important to him.  Respect.  He would rather have been respected than liked.”

 

“Oh, Aaron didn’t always make it easy, but he was also well-liked.”

 

She cast a contemplative look at him.  “ _You_ liked him, didn’t you, Jason?”

 

“Yes, I did.”  Swinging his arm, he indicated the buildings before them.  “This is a small town.  It’s like a family here.  And Aaron was part of my family.”  He let his arm fall.  “I keep expecting to see him.  You know, coming out of Ben’s store after buying those smelly cigars he liked.  When I walk into Lottie’s.  Or walking from his house to the mill.  We must have passed each other a thousand times, always with some little barb or tease.  I find it hard to accept we will never share a drink or a bet again.”

 

Julie nodded her understanding.  “He’s left a hole in your life.”

 

“A great emptiness.”

 

She took his hand again.  “Even though Aaron and I rarely saw each other, I feel it, too.”  A small self-mocking smile lifted her lips.  “I no longer have a big brother to blame for all the bad things in my life.”

 

“Julie,” he chastised gently.

 

“No, it’s true, Jason.  I always said it was Aaron’s fault I wasn’t married.  After all, he had to approve the man I chose, because of that stupid will Father wrote.  But I never gave him a chance to approve or disapprove.  I told myself he would never approve of anyone I liked.  It was my excuse for not being married.”

 

“Julie, there are hundreds of men who would love to be married to you.”

 

“But you aren’t one of them?” she grinned up at him.

 

“Uh…I…” he stammered.

 

“I know.  You only saw me as Aaron’s sister and a way to annoy him.  And I only saw you as a means to have my way with Aaron.”

 

Taking her gently by the elbows, he turned her so they were face to face.  “You are a beautiful woman, Julie.  You are intelligent and strong-willed with a wonderful sense of humor.  And if I was a marrying kind of man we would have walked down the aisle together long ago.”

 

“But there are just too many adventures waiting around each corner for you to tie yourself down, aren’t there, Jason?”  Reaching up, she kissed the end of his nose.  “Oh, I am well aware of my good points as well as my bad.  I am attractive, well-educated, well-breed and I’ve had more than one offer of marriage.  But I suppose I’ve always been afraid any man in my life would disappear.”

 

“Like your father?” Jason asked gently.

 

She nodded.  “Like Father.”

 

“Not all men are like that, Julie,” he reminded.

 

“I know.”  She gave him a sad smile.  “But sometimes fear is a hard thing to argue with.  Now, we’d better get back before we have the whole town talking about us again.”

 

“Too late.”  He directed her attention to the open windows of the dormitory.  “There have been at least six brides watching us since we came into sight.  Before we get to Lottie’s, everyone in town will know every move we made.”

 

“Small towns.”  She shook her head, a mischievous smile starting to form.  “Well, we might as well really give them something to talk about.”

 

Plopping a quick kiss square on his mouth, she turned and strolled sedately down the path.

 

With his own rueful grin, Jason followed her.


	7. Chapter 7

It was full dark by the time Sara and Aaron got all the chores done for the night.  It had turned bitterly cold and neither was dressed for it.  So they hurried with their tasks so they could get back into the house.

 

Aaron felt a sense of home, coming in with her this way, putting things in order for the night, and knew more than ever that it was time to leave.  He shuffled through the dark in the direction of the kitchen.

 

It struck her that by now he knew where many things were kept in her house and she liked having him know.  She suffered with a wistful pride, watching while he fetched the matches as if he were lord of the manor come to light its fire.

 

His nose was red from the cold, hair tousled from the wind.  He looked more like a mountain man now, with the doeskin shirt and rough trousers.  His skin was swarthy, the perfect foil for his black hair and beard.  His appearance was totally masculine, from the clothing to the ruddy cheeks, the wind-reddened nose to the untidy hair.

 

The crackling fire quickly warmed the room, taking off the chill the cabin had held when they first entered.  When the few chores that needed to be done were done, they both drew chairs before the fire and sat; coffee cups in hand, relaxing from the day’s labor.

 

“Brrrr.” Sara complained, shivering.  “It’s October.  It shouldn’t be this cold yet.  Feels more like Christmas than fall, doesn’t it?”

 

A self-conscious smile curved his sensual lips.  “I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Christmas.”

 

“I used to love Christmas here when I was little.” She let the memories of a pleasant past wash over her.  “Pa always cut a tree.  Ma and I would make decorations then we’d hang them on the tree and all over the house.  Ma would read from the Bible and we’d all sing carols together.  Pa loved the tradition even if they weren’t the ones he had grown up with.”

 

“We did most of that, too.  Even Mother was happy at Christmas.  That is until Father left.”

 

Although she remained silent, the question and concern was obvious in her eyes.  Aaron wasn’t sure if he could tell her.  He’d carried it too long, guarded it too close to share it easily.

 

But he could feel her support as she looked at him with gentle eyes.  He knew she would understand.  He drew a shaky breath and began.

 

“My father was a very charming man.  He could talk the birds out of the trees or cash out of people’s pockets without half trying.  He was very talented at starting a business.  But not so good at keeping them going.  Every year or so he’d get restless, sell out and we’d find ourselves on the move to a new town and a new business.”

 

Sara turned to study his profile, following the line of his forehead, nose, beard and lips that were lit to a burning yellow-red.  He lifted his cup, took a swallow, and she watched his Adam’s apple lift and settle back down.  He lifted his face and stared at some distant point, that long ago anguish was still plain on his man’s face.

 

“When my sister, Julie, was born I thought things had changed.  Father had built a solid freight business and we stayed there more than five years.  Then one day the wanderlust hit him again.  He’d heard there were great opportunities in California.  Said I was old enough to take charge and he left.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

“Two months short of fourteen.”

 

“Oh, Aaron,” she breathed.

 

He shrugged.  “I suppose he thought the business would provide for us.  But he took all the cash out of the freight line when he left.  I lost half the teamsters when I couldn’t pay ‘em.  Nobody wanted to extend credit to a fourteen-year-old kid.  Without teamsters I lost most of the contracts.  It all fell apart so fast, by the time I thought about selling there wasn’t anybody gonna give me a decent price for it.”

 

There was a long silence before Aaron sat back in his chair crossing an ankle over a knee, so his stockinged foot brushed her pants, almost touching her knee.  One dark hand fell over his anklebone; the other dangled the cup over his upraised knee.

 

“So you lost the business?”

 

He smiled, though there was no humor in his eyes.  “Nope.  Too stubborn for that.  I sold our house and just about every stick of furniture in it.  Moved my mother and sister into a little shanty in a bad part of town.  And I put every penny of that money into the business.  I drove half the routes myself and kept the few contracts I had.  Negotiated a few new ones, though I found out later the prices they were chargin’ me were almost double what they should have been.”

 

“They _cheated_ you!” Sara spat indignantly, outraged that anyone could take advantage of her Aaron.

 

He gave a cynical grin at her response.  “They saw an opportunity and they took it.  Anyway, I had to take a second job, because the freight line wasn’t making much.  Mother could barely take care of herself, so I had to take care of Julie, too.”  His eyes became distant.  “You don’t know what it’s like to have your little sister crying because she’s hungry when you have three cent in your pocket and what little food is in the house has to last until the end of the week.”

 

Sitting up straighter, he turned to her, a fire in his eyes.  “But, dammit, I made it work.  It took me four long years but in the end that freight line was on its way to being solid again.”

 

“Why was it so important to you, Aaron?”

 

“Success is measured in _money_ ,” he barked fiercely.  “Respect is measured in _money_.  You don’t get respect when the house you live in is little more than a shack.  People laugh at you when you’ve patched the knees of your pants yourself and the cuffs are three inches above your run-down boots.”  Aaron winced at his memory of that gangly youth with his worn-out, out-grown clothes.  And the snickers of the boys he‘d gone to school with and used to call his friends.  “But _no one_ laughs at you when you have money in your pocket and fine clothes on your back.  People line up to be your friend when they can see the color of gold.”

 

Someone had taught him that lesson very well, too well.  Sara juxtaposed her own youth against his.  Secure, loved, knowing all the time she was both.  Even after her parent’s death, Conrad had made sure all her material needs were met.  Until _that_ night her whole life had been rather bland and boring.

 

The fire died from his eyes and he slumped back into his chair.  “Then Father came home.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Apparently he’d done quite well in California.  At least that’s what he said.”

 

“And he hadn’t tried to help you?”  Sara was outraged.  “He hadn’t sent any money?”

 

Bitterness curled Aaron’s lip.  “Not a single letter in the four years he was gone.  We didn’t know where he was or even if he was dead or alive.  Anyway, he wanted to sell the freight line and move us all to California with him.”

 

“After all your hard work…” She was so angry she could barely get the words out.  She thought of all the evil things she’d like to have done to the man who dared to call himself Aaron’s father.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, a little amazed by her anger.  He slumped further down in his chair.  “I couldn’t do anything to stop him from selling; all the legal papers were still in his name.”

 

“Did you go to California with him?”

 

“No, I headed out on my own. When Father sold the business he did give me a stake before he left.  I figured I’d run one business, I could start one of my own.  And I did.”

 

“What about your mother and sister?”

 

“Julie ended up going back east to school.  And Mother…” he shook his head wearily.  “Mother went with Father to California.  A coupla years later she walked in front of a train.  No one ever knew if it was an accident or if she did it on purpose.”

 

“Aaron, I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.  I didn’t tell you so you would feel sorry for me.  I’ve never wanted that from anyone.”

 

She caught both his hands and held them loosely, dropping her gaze.  “Thank you for telling me.  I know you never told anyone before.  It means a lot to me to know I was the first one you trusted.”

 

His chin dropped.  He’d told her all that without blushing.  Now, when there was nothing to be ashamed of, he felt himself go hot all over.  How ironic that it should be Sara who drew him out.  But they could always talk, and by now he was feeling very comfortable with her.

 

He told her everything he’d done after he left home.  He even told her about Ellen and her death.  He talked about Seattle and the dreams he had of what the town would someday be.  They were both getting very lazy and woozy-tired by now, and the conversation was becoming a little punchy and lethargic.  From time to time during this lazy exchange, she’d cast that damnable sleepy grin his way before they’d both stare at the fire again, all natural and relaxed and getting sleepier and looser by the minute.  The hour ceased to matter as they talked on into the stormy night.

 

The howling night sounds came and went as they sat, listening in companionable silence now.

 

“I wish a person could be two places at once.” Sara spoke the words that were very much on her mind.

 

He forced a laugh, but its melancholy note made her heart trip faster.  So many times she thought he was about to voice his feelings for her, but he always backed off.  Sara’s own feelings were running stronger by the day, yet she was helpless to make the first move.  And until he did, she could only wait and wish.

 

“You seem very sad all of a sudden.  Is something wrong?” she asked, hoping he’d offer her the consolation of admitting he’d miss her.

 

But he only drew in a quick sigh and answered, “I’m getting tired, that’s all.”

 

She reached out and touched his forearm.  His chin lifted and his eyes took on a dark, probing intensity.  Beneath the sleeve of his underwear the muscles tensed.  “Aaron?”

 

He got to his feet and pushed his chair back to the table.  Tempted to touch.  Tempted to end the evening the way they both wanted it to end.  He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he took a single step toward her, she would be in his arms in an instant.  Instead, he turned and headed for the door.  “Good-night, Sara.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Aaron sat on the edge of the cot with his head in his hands.  Her face glowed before him, that pretty young face with the expression that hid nothing.  With those smoky green, long-lashed eyes that were incapable of concealing the truth.  Lord, lord.  He was the one with the age, the wisdom.  It was up to him to hold her at arm’s length.  But how?

 

What was he supposed to do when she came following him with those eyes all wide and pretty and tempting him to do things no honorable man would think of doing with a girl already married?

 

What a fine mess.  Old enough to be her father, and here he sat, trembling like some boy whose voice was just changing.

 

Sara’s thoughts were far different.  As the days went by, she found their age difference mattering less and less.  Aaron’s maturity only made him grow more desirable in her eyes.  His body, fleshed out, honed by years of hard work, held far more attraction for her than the thin ones of younger men.  The creases that bridged his eyes only added character to his attractive face.  And she knew how to make him laugh so they’d disappear. 

 

She thought of him sleeping in the small bed in the barn.  She closed her eyes and let the feelings sweep through her body.  Kissing her pillow no longer sufficed as a substitute for the real thing, and she was bound and determined to have the real thing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Checkmate.”

 

“I’ll beat you yet.”  Sara straightened and surveyed her decimated forces on the chessboard.  It had been a very long time since she’d played chess and she was more than a little rusty.  And Aaron was a much sneakier opponent than her father had ever been.

 

They sat on the floor before the crackling fireplace, her father’s chessboard laid out between them.  Outside the thunder rumbled and the rain could be heard plainly, but here in the cabin, they sat cozy and warm, wrapped in privacy, making them seem the only two people in the world.  An almost empty decanter of homemade blackberry wine sat beside them.

 

“You want to play another game?” Aaron challenged.

 

“Of course.”

 

Sara looked at him as he set up the board for their next game.  With his face half in shadows, the firelight catching highlights on his hair, eyebrows and beard, he looked devilish or devilishly attractive.  She hooked the nail of a little finger into the corner of her mouth, lifting and misshaping her lip in an unconsciously sensual fashion while studying him.  She studied his hands in the dim light as he worked at arranging the pieces.  Such beautiful hands.  Long, slender fingers, strong yet gentle.  She could almost feel those fingers entwined in her hair.  She shook her head at the images, but realized as the room became a little bit tilted that she was pleasantly drunk.  She also noticed Aaron, smiling like a new moon, his face flushed from the wine and heat from the fire, a hank of hair coiling down his forehead, was as squiffed as herself.

 

With Aaron this close, Sara was conscious of his every movement.  He sipped from his wine, his elbows resting casually on his knees.  Her head was light and buzzing and she didn’t think she’d survive the night with him this close without touching him.  He looked up at that moment and everything she felt was plain on her face.  Beyond stopping herself, she reached out a hand and caressed his cheek where the scar parted his heavy beard.

 

He gripped her arm, his eyes burning into hers.  “Don’t.”

 

“I’m all grown up, Aaron.  I can decide what I want.”

 

His hand fell from her as if she’d turned into a living torch.  She grabbed the front of his shirt to hold him close.  Beneath her knuckles his heart knocked crazily.

 

“Admit it, Aaron.”

 

He clutched her wrist and forced it down.  “You’ve had too much to drink.”

 

“No, just enough.”

 

They sat poised in the clutches of a tension more powerful than anything either of them had ever experienced before.  His fingertips sank into the soft skin of her wrist where her pulse thrummed hot and fast.  The firelight danced across their faces as they stared at each other in silence.  The night seemed to throb about them with a seductive insistence all it’s own.

 

Suddenly, with a soft mewling sound, Sara pulled free, flung her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.  He made no response, holding himself rigid with his lips sealed tightly for a full ten seconds.  Then his hands came down on her shoulders, trying to force her away.  But she clung to him, fervent and eager, knocking the chessboard aside, knowing she would die of humiliation if he remained stubborn and refused to return the kiss.  His thumbs dug into her shoulderblades, his fingers into her back.  He pushed and she clung until they both trembled in silent combat, their breathing heavy.

 

Then he gave in.  His powerful hands drew her up with him as he straightened to his knees until their chests touched.  With a groan of reluctant capitulation he slanted his head and began returning the kiss, moving his lips over hers without restraint, opening his mouth to graze his tongue along her childishly locked lips.  At the first touch, she stiffened slightly then shuddered.

 

Against her lips he whispered, “You asked for it, girl, so open your mouth and kiss the way a woman does.”

 

His tongue returned insistently and at its touch Sara realized a sharp difference between this kiss and those she’d experienced before.  Conrad’s kisses had moved her not at all and she had felt only revulsion when Rafe touched her.  This kiss asked to be answered in kind.  She opened her lips experimentally and felt the wondrous shock of heat and wetness as Aaron’s tongue boldly entered her mouth and slipped in a full voluptuous circle around its confines.  Shyly, she followed his lead, returning the intimacy, tasting him, sampling his texture, all sleek and heated, flavored of wine.  Her body came alive with sensation more compelling than any she’d known before.

 

_So this is what it’s supposed to be like.  Oh, Aaron, teach me more!_

 

She strained closer and he crushed her to the wool texture of his undershirt for altogether too short a time.  Even before she could tell if Aaron’s heart hammered as wildly as her own, he drew back and lifted his head, holding her away.  His breath pelted her face, beating a loose strand of hair from her forehead while her vitals pulsed, unrequited.  When he spoke, the words were wrenched out angrily from between clenched teeth.

 

“You’re playing with fire, little girl.”

 

He lurched up from the floor and limped from the house into the cold rain.  Sara touched her moist trembling lips, her heart, her stomach.  Confused, aroused, she stumbled to the safe familiarity of her own icy bed, to lay beneath the covers and shiver.  Her head spun crazily but it wasn’t all from blackberry wine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sara awakened the following morning with the kiss still fresh on her mind.  She touched her lips as if the imprint of it remained.  She flung her arms above her head, closed her eyes, and saw his face as it looked last night in the firelight, flushed, with the curl of hair trailing down his forehead.  A devilishly handsome face whose smile she’d come to crave, in whose gaze she longed to lose herself.  The thought of him filled her with a giddiness to see him again.  But when she did, what could she say to him?  _What did one say to a man the morning after you’d forced him to kiss you thoroughly?_

 

He’s right, you’re playing with fire, girl, she told herself, as she pulled her clothes on.  They were two people alone and there could be no future for them.  But he made her crave the fire and the fact that they could both get burned became increasingly unimportant.

 

When breakfast was ready, she went to the door to call Aaron.  To her utter amazement, a heavy blanket of snow covered the landscape, drifting up around the cabin.  What she had thought was a thunderstorm had really been a blizzard.  Sara charged out into the snow with youthful abandon.

 

Bending she scooped two handfuls of snow and tossed it over her head.  It drifted down on her upraised face.

 

“You’re gonna end up with the sniffles if you keep that up,” came a beloved voice.

 

“Oh, phooey!  What’s a little snow gonna hurt?”  She stooped over, scooped again and took a bite. Nonchalantly she began shaping a snowball, patting it top and bottom, transferring it from hand to hand, arching one eyebrow with devious intent.

 

“You just try it and you’ll find out what’s gonna hurt.” He knew, after last night, he should go into the house but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move.

 

“It’s just clean snow.”  She took a second taste and advanced lazily.  “Here, take a bite.”

 

He jerked his head back and grabbed her wrists, “Sara, you’re gonna be sorry.”

 

“Oh, yeah?  Bite…here…bite it.  Bite it, have a bi—” They began struggling and laughing while she tried to push the snowball in his face.

 

“Cut it out.”  She nearly got him this time but he was too quick, and much stronger.

 

She was laughing unrestrainedly as they continued struggling in hand-to-hand combat.

 

She gritted her teeth and grunted, “I’m gonna get you yet, Aaron Stempel!”  He only laughed, so she hooked a heel behind his boot, gave one mighty shove, and set him on his backside in the snow.  There he sat, an amazed expression on his face, sunk up to his ribs and elbows while she covered her mouth and rocked with laughter.  He picked up one hand and peered into the sleeve.  Snow was packed up it.  He gave it a slow ponderous shake, all the while skewering her with a feral gleam.  He picked up the other hand, dug the snow from around his wrist and eased to his feet with deliberate slowness.  Sara started to back away.

 

“Aaron, don’t you dare…Aaron…”

 

He dusted his backside and advanced.

 

“I didn’t mean it, honest.”

 

Suddenly he lunged, caught her wrist and tried to throw her backwards.  She squealed and fought.  He pushed her harder and she braced deeper, struggling, laughing.

 

He took another step and she grabbed his shirt to keep herself from going over, but she was too late.  Whoosh!  Back she went, hauling him with her into the puffy pillow of snow, landing in a tangle of arms and legs, with Aaron sprawled over her like a human quilt.  He fell to his side, one leg trailing across her knees while they laughed and laughed.

 

As suddenly as it started it ended.  The world grew silent.  The weight of his leg across hers grew heavy.  A pulse seemed to rise up out of the earth itself, through the snow into their bodies.

 

He braced up on an elbow and looked down at her.  Their gaze grew intense.  “Sara,” he uttered in a queer strained voice.  Snow clung to the back of his collar, his shoulders.  She saw him for a brief moment, his face framed by the pewter sky above him, his breath labored through open lips.  Then his mouth took hers and his weight pressed her deeper into the snow.  Their tongues met, mated, warm against their cold lips while he settled full length upon her and she drew him in with eager arms.

 

When he lifted his head, their hearts were crazy, erratic and they both knew a terrible impatience.  He kissed her again, holding her head in both hands.  The kiss ended with the same reluctance as the first.

 

A dollop of snow fell from his collar onto her cheek and as he licked it away her eyes closed and her lips opened.  His mouth slid back to hers, reclaiming it with a fervor that vitalized both of their bodies.

 

Reluctantly he rolled from her and lay on his back.

 

“We’ve gotta stop.”

 

“Oh, Aaron, it feels so right.  As right as anything can be in this world.”

 

He took her arms and pushed her up, and they sat hip to hip.  He wished he could be young again, plunging into life with the same recklessness she had.  But he wasn’t and he had to use the common sense she hadn’t grown into yet.

 

He swung up and faced the house.  “As soon as the snow melts, I’ll be leaving.”

 

The words sent a bolt of dread through her.  But she had known the time was coming.  She’d seen the times he stood staring at the far horizon.  She just hadn’t wanted to think about his leaving.

 

“Come with me, Sara.”

 

The words were so quietly spoken she wasn’t sure she’d understood them.  “What?”

 

He turned his profile toward her.  “Come back to Seattle with me.”

 

Her heart sang joyously.  _Yes, Aaron, oh, yes, yes, yes._   Then the reality of her situation washed over her.  And for the first time she saw the vicious trap she’d led them both into.

 

“Aaron, I have my own story,” she muttered reluctantly.  “Come into the house and I’ll tell you.”

 

His features darkened with suspicion.  “Is this about your mysterious husband?”

 

“Yes, Conrad’s a part of it.”

 

“So there really is a Conrad?”

 

“Oh, yes.  He’s very real.  Come in the house, get warm and I’ll tell you.”  Faced with his honesty of the previous night, she knew she could lie to him no longer.  It was time for both of them to face the truth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sara faced the fireplace, knowing she wouldn’t be able to start looking into his dark eyes.  “After my parents died, I lived with my Aunt Tess.  She thought I should be married and having children by that age, so she set about finding me a suitable husband.  Of course, she hid the fact that I was quarter Indian.  So she found a young man with good breeding whose family had been pressuring him to get married.  We met and were married a week later.”

 

“Conrad?”

 

“Yes.  Conrad.”  She picked up a figurine from the mantel and stared at it without seeing it.  “It wasn’t so bad, but it wasn’t what I expected from a marriage.  You see, he wasn’t interested in me, not the way a man’s supposed to be interested in his wife.  There was someone else.  He never talked to me about it, but I heard gossip from the maids.  Someone he loved who wasn’t suitable.  I was…window-dressing to keep his family at bay.”

 

Aaron was dazed.  _How could a man be married to this beauty and not desire her?_   But it explained a lot.  Like why she didn’t know how to kiss.

 

“Conrad’s parents were quite rich and they gave us a nice house as a wedding present.  I never lacked for anything.  Anything I wanted was mine for the asking.  Except companionship.  Con preferred the company in the bars and casinos to mine.

 

“Con was running with a bad crowd.  It was part of the reason his family wanted him to be married.  They thought, with a wife and family, he’d settle down and start being responsible.  But it didn’t work.  Con didn’t change.  His friends were young, wild and bored, all of them from influential families.  Rafael Butler was their leader.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Sara tried to stop her shaking.  She hadn’t truly thought about those events since they had happened.  She’d repressed the memories, but now she had to think of them, tell Aaron about them, relive them.  Her stomach churned but she knew she had to face them.

 

“One night, they came to the house, Con and Rafe.  They were all dirty and disheveled and very upset.  You see, they’d only meant it to be a practical joke, a prank.  But it hadn’t worked out right and someone had died.  An innocent person who just happened to be walking by at the time.  If anyone found out it had been Con and Rafe they would be in a very great amount of trouble.”

 

Torn by conflicting emotions, Aaron could only stand and listen.

 

“I heard everything before they knew I was there.  When they realized I knew what had happened, Rafe was furious.  He threatened me but Con calmed him down and convinced him I wouldn’t tell anyone.  I should have run right then, but I didn’t know; I had no idea what Rafe was capable of.”

 

She replaced the figurine, afraid she would break it, her hands were trembling so badly.  “Rafe came back two nights later, when he knew Conrad wouldn’t be there.  He had a gun.  He said he couldn’t take the chance that I would tell.  He had too much to lose.  He said he’d tell Con I’d run off and no one would say different.”

 

Aaron reached over and pulled her face into the curve of his neck and felt her tears run down his collarbone onto his chest.  She was small and narrow-shouldered, and fit perfectly beneath his chin.  He stroked her hair, drawing it back from her face.  There had been times when he’d wondered what it would feel like in his fingers.  He scarcely noticed now in light of his concern for her.

 

She closed her eyes and rested against him, absorbing the comfort he offered.  He was hard and warm and smelled of wood smoke.  And when his hand cradled her head and tucked her firmly against him, she went gratefully.

 

He represented security, strength and protection, and she’d had too little of all three lately.  She slipped her arms around his warm sides, spread her hands upon his back and held fast.

 

And there in his arms, she began healing.

 

His fingers moved idly in her hair.  His sure, steady heartbeat thrummed against her temple.  She wanted to stay that way forever.  But there was more of the story to tell.

 

“I was so scared.  I knew he was going to take me somewhere and murder me.”

 

“What did you do?” he murmured gently.

 

“He turned his back on me for a moment.  And when he did, I grabbed my scissors and stabbed him.”  She could feel Aaron wince away from her.  “I _killed_ him and I ran.”

 

“Why did you run?” he croaked.  “Why didn’t you stay and tell your story?  It was self-defense.”

 

“It wouldn’t have mattered what I said.  Not to Rafe’s father, General Butler.  He is a powerful and vindictive man, Aaron.  And I killed his only son.  There is no way he will rest until he sees me dead, or at least in prison for the rest of my life.  Even before Aunt Tess smuggled me out of San Francisco there were wanted posters out for me.  So you see, I _can’t_ go with you.  Not only am I a married woman.  I’m wanted for murder.  I can’t go _anywhere_ I might be recognized.  Not if I want to stay alive.”

 

His arms dropped to his sides and he stepped away from her.  His voice was thick when he spoke.  “Why?  If there was no way…”

 

She closed her eyes against his pain.  “I’m sorry.  I never meant to hurt you.  I wasn’t thinking past what we could have right now.”

 

Lifting his chin, his eyes drifted to the ceiling.  He gave a slow shake of his head then let out a bitter laugh.  “So the joke’s on me again.”

 

“Aaron?”

 

He raised his hands, warding off her approach.  “No.  There’s nothing more to say.  I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

 

“Aaron, I…”

 

“No!” he barked, heading for the door.  Tears stung her eyes.  She wanted to run to him, not let him go.  But if she was miserable, she had one consolation.

 

So was he.


	8. Chapter 8

Lying in the darkness, she tried not to think about Aaron.  But her mind refused her.  Senses Sara had never realized she possess were now expanded to their fullest.  Her body throbbed and beat and begged.  _How right…how utterly right…it would be to simply go to him and say, ‘Show me, for I want to see.  Give me, for I deserve.  Let me, for I feel the right._ ’

 

The question wasn’t could she do that and live with it afterward.  The question now was could she not do that and watch her one chance walk out the door to leave her ignorant and unfulfilled.

 

The moon was rich cream, high, melting down through the small window, running all over him as he lay sprawled carelessly on the straw.  She stood trembling in the doorway, afraid to enter, afraid not to.  Her resolve was weakening in the face of the act.  She whispered his name.

 

He had not been sleeping as she thought.  Although she couldn’t make out his eyes, she saw the moon’s reflection on the bolder lines of his face.  His beard made a darker, beckoning shadow.

 

“What is it, Sara?” He sat up in the straw, afraid of what the answer would be.

 

“I want to know, Aaron.  I want to know everything.”

 

“Oh, God, girl, don’t do this.”  He didn’t know what to do, but he knew what he must do.  “Go back into the house, Sara.  For God’s sake, go.  You don’t know what you’re doing.”

 

“I know exactly what I’m doing.  I don’t want to go back into the house,” she answered simply.

 

“You don’t need this in your life.  Just go back into the house and tomorrow I’ll be gone.”

 

“Don’t you think I know that!” she cried desperately.  “And what will I have when you’re gone?  I want to know what every woman has a right to know.  You are my last chance.”

 

He jumped up from the straw, refusing to meet her eyes.  “Godammit, that’s not fair.  I’ve done a lot of things in my life I’m not proud of, but I’ve never ruined a girl’s reputation.  I won’t start with you.”

 

“What reputation?  I didn’t know a murderess had much of a reputation.”  She laughed bitterly.  “Besides, who is there here to care, Aaron?  Who would know?”

 

“I would know.”

 

She swallowed her pride and spoke in a strained whisper.  “You’re sending me away then?”

 

_Oh, God_ , he thought.  _God, Sara, don’t do this to me when I’m trying to be noble for the first time in my life!_   “Sara, I couldn’t live with myself afterward.  You’re not some…some two-bit whore.”

 

“If I were, could I stay?”  Her plaintive plea made him ache with want.

 

Why had they let things get so far, he berated himself, wondering how to get both of them out of this without lasting hurt to either.

 

“Sara,” he reasoned.  “It’s because you’re not that you can’t.  Don’t you understand the difference?  You deserve more than a one night roll in the hay.”  Had she no idea what she did to him, standing there swathed in moonlight?  “You’ll hate me afterward.  Because I’m going.  I’m going and you know it.”

 

“I may never have a chance for more than a one night roll in the hay.  I want to touch you, hold you, to feel your body against mine.  If it can only be once, I’ll take what I can get.  I’m not asking that you love me.” She sighed in defeat.  “Aaron, I can’t force you.  I thought you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”  She ran from the barn, tears streaming down her face.

 

_I do.  I do want you_ , he screamed silently after her.  _More than I ever wanted anything before._   He stood trembling in the moonlight.  He, always strong and in control, now stood confused and torn.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sara sat at the bench before the mirror, trying to calm her shaking nerves.  She had never been so humiliated in her life.  She brushed her long hair over her shoulder, trying to concentrate on the act and dismiss the image of the man who had refused her.  She tried to count one hundred strokes, but the numbers kept getting mixed up in her head, so she parted her hair freshly down the middle, and braided it.

 

When Sara heard a light tap on the door, she jumped as if a rifle had cracked in the stillness.  She couldn’t seem to force a word up into her throbbing throat, so she just sat holding her unfinished braid as the door opened slowly and Aaron stood there.

 

“May I come in, Sara?”  But still her words would not come forth, and he came to the foot of the bench and stood watching while she formed the last braid with shaking hands.

 

“Why don’t you take out your braids?” he asked.

 

And as if his words were the force that controlled her movements, she began undoing the braid she’d nearly finished.  He watched her as she freed both of them, then tried to comb through them with her fingers.  All the while, her eyes stayed on him.  He turned to look over his shoulder and finding the brush she’d left on the dresser, picked it up and came to stand behind her.  She followed him with her eyes, still holding the trailing ends of her hair, until he was above her and she was gazing up at him.

 

Her eyes closed as he ran the brush over the center part of her hair, and he brushed at it repeatedly until he had obliterated it and pulled her hair straight back.

 

Then his hands went slowly around the front of her neck until, under her hair, she felt his thumbs pushing her head up.  When she straightened it, she felt the warmth of his body flattened against her back.  His first kiss was laid lightly upon the hair he’d just finished brushing.

 

“I thought I could keep from coming to you, Sara.”  His voice was unlike she’d ever heard it, intense and low.  “I was wrong.  I’m not that strong, not that noble.”

 

“You’re very noble to me.”

 

“There’s still time to stop this.  All you have to do is say the word and I’ll leave.”

 

“I won’t say it.  You know I want this.”  It was an effort for her to breathe.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing he was being unfair.  Standing as he was behind and above her, he could see her chest breaking with her heavy breathing, knew she wanted him, too, and he was making her decide for them both.

 

“There is no such thing as being sure,” she answered.

 

“Oh, God, Sara,” he groaned and scooped her up in powerful arms and held her against a heart that hammered wildly in his breast.  He buried his face in her hair, knowing he should not do this but unable to deny himself any longer.

 

She knew absolutely nothing of what he could do to her, he was sure.  She asked one thing from him now, and he wanted to give it to her so badly it physically hurt.  Standing there, fighting desire, smelling the aura of roses drifting from her, Aaron floundered, became lost in her.

 

“Sara,” he uttered, the name strained, deep in his throat.  He leaned to whisper in her ear.  “Don’t hate me, Sara, promise you won’t hate me.  I don’t think I could stand that.”  His gruff words moved the hair behind her ear and trapped her heart in her throat.

 

“I promise.  I could never hate you.”  She groaned as he let her slip down his full length.

 

Impulsively she reached out four finger tips and tested the dark hair that branched across his warm chest, then followed it halfway down his belly before realizing where she was heading.  Her wide eyes flashed up.  He captured her hand and placed it on the spot it had abandoned.

 

It played over him, tantalized.

 

How hard, how silky, how masculine.  How wondrously different from herself he was.  While she explored the hollow of his throat, the backs of his knuckles stroked her collarbone, then brushed down her buttons.

 

She forgot how to breathe.

 

His hand moved back up and gently cupped a breast.

 

Her eyes dropped closed and she stood shadow still, steeped in sensation.  Goose bumps climbed her arms, her belly, rippled the breast he gently kneaded.  It hardened for him and changed shape beneath his palm.  His tongue touched her lower lip, traced a wet circular path, bringing him back to the point of origin, which he bit and sucked into his mouth, massaging it with only the tip of his tongue until she wriggled slightly and shivered.  Up stole her hands to his chest, his neck, his hair, fingers spreading wide within it, caressing his skull as she pulled his head down to receive her kiss.

 

Her tongue danced lustily within his mouth.  Her body strained high, pulsing against him.  Around her back he reached, hands skimming down her buttocks, gripping hard to lift her high against him.  Rhythm began, a sweet slow lolling that rocked them one against the other.

 

He set a river flowing in her body, flooding its banks.  The sensation was so sudden it took the starch from her knees.  As she dropped, their mouths parted with a soft succulent sound, and for a moment he bore her weight with a knee, until astride, she knew a momentary relief from the pressures building within.  The knee let her back to the floor, then slipped away.

 

He left her to move toward the lantern, and she called softly, “No.”  He paused, turning.  “Please…”  Her cheeks pinkened and she looked down at her hands, then resolutely at him.  “I want to see you.”

 

His heart drummed heavily at her request.  He had not thought of women that way – a new lesson for Aaron Stempel.

 

Leaving the lantern glowing softly, he unbuttoned and doffed his trousers, but her eyes remained downcast as she realized he was standing before her naked.

 

“Sara…”

 

She raised her eyes in an evasive sweep until they locked with his.  The only sound in the room was the tick of the clock and the thunder of their hearts in their ears.  He reached out a hand, palm up.  She placed hers in it and he drew her to him and dispensed with the nightgown without further delay.

 

Before she had time to grow self-conscious he swept her in to the bed, dropping beside her in a full-length embrace.  With their mouths joined, he rolled her to her back, finding her naked breast first with his hand, then with his tongue, murmuring low in his throat as it purled up in nature’s reach for more.  He laved it, leaving it wet for the stroke of this thumb.  He smiled down at it, then rubbed his soft, upturned lips over it ascended tip with infinite gentleness before turning his attention to its twin.

 

She twisted languorously, murmuring his name, lifting in invitation, threading his hair with her fingers.  His wet tongue felt silken and profoundly powerful as he suckled, released, suckled again, drawing sensation from deep in her belly.  She cried out, one ecstatic hosanna, as he tugged gently with his teeth.  She lolled, immersed in pleasure, stretching her arms over her head until her belly went hollow and he stroked it with his hand, then gave it a lingering kiss before crushing her tightly, taking her on a rolling journey across the bed.  She landed on top and shinned down for more of his mouth.  Her hair caught between them; he flicked it aside and kissed her almost roughly.  She clung, returned stroke for stroke.

 

After long minutes, she lifted her face.

 

He held the hair back from her temples with both hands, eyes glittering up at her with dark, intense passion.  “Sara, I used to lay here alone and think of this.  So many nights, when you were just across the room.”

 

He rolled her to her back, leaning above her, studying her eyes while their hearts pounded with one accord.  A brief kiss on her parted lips, a briefer one on her breast, a hand on her stomach, an intense flame leaping from his gaze to hers while he reached low, low…

 

He touched her with care, tutoring her limbs to widen beneath his caress, her flesh to blossom to his exploration.  And when she was lithe and lissome and fervid, he captured her hand and curled it inside his own, then placed it on his distended flesh and taught her some things a woman has to know.

 

He closed his eyes and groaned softly while his flesh slipped through her hand.  His head dropped back, while she wondered at her power to bring such abandon to a man so strong and indomitable.  When he trembled and his breathing grew ragged, there awaited that greatest pleasure of all.  He hovered above her and his voice came shaken at her ear.  “If anything hurts, tell me and I’ll stop.  Now easy…easy…”

 

His entry was slow, sacred.  His elbow trembled near her shoulders while he waited.  She drew him deep.

 

“Sara, ahh, Sara…” came his utterance as she lifted to impale herself.

 

He found her no girl, but all the woman he’d ever wanted.  She taught him a new youth, a boundless thing of the heart rather than the calendar.  Lying beneath the sinuous motion of his driving hips she followed his wordless commands and lifted in accommodation.  She came to know the touch of his breath moving her hair and warming her neck; he the gentle grip of those strands as they coiled against his damp forehead.  Together they discovered a timeless lovers’ language, fashioned of murmurs and rustles and sighs.  She learned his capacity for gentleness; he her capacity for strength.  Together they learned when to reverse rules.  He found a joy in making her arch and gasp, she an equal joy in his shuddering call of release.  She discovered that twice was possible for a man; he that thrice was not enough for some women.

 

And the keen, seeping pleasure to be found in the after minutes.  Those weak, wilted stretches of time when their sapped bodies could do no more or less than tangle together in sated exhaustion.

 

And nothing mattered but each other.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Aaron woke unwilling the next morning.  Myriad of thoughts flitted through his mind.  There was no guilt, for what they had done seemed inevitable, they had been coming to this since they had laid eyes on each other.  He looked at the window where pink-gray light crept over the sill and knew an emptiness unlike any he’d ever felt upon leaving a woman’s bed.  _Oh, Sara, this should be forever, but it can’t.  Damn you, girl.  Why did you do this to me?_

 

“Sara, I have to go.”

 

She nodded wordlessly.  Sliding from the bed, she pulled her robe over her head.

 

Soon they both stood on the porch of the cabin.  Breakfast had been eaten, the horse saddled, food for the trip prepared, all in silence.  Nothing more could be done to put off the inevitable.  Sara finally looked at Aaron.

 

His deep brown eyes, filled with unspoken misery, locked with hers.  He squeezed her hand so hard; it took an effort not to flinch.  The tears splashed over her lashes and ran in silver streaks down her cheeks.  Her heart felt swollen and bruised, and it beat so heavily it seemed she felt the reverberations at the bottoms of her boots.

 

Aaron swallowed.

 

Sara gulped.

 

Suddenly he scooped her up into his arms, kissing her with a might and majesty rivaling the mountains they stood beneath.  His tongue swept into her mouth and his arms crushed her so tightly her back snapped.  Desperately, he slanted his mouth over hers, clutching the back of her head and pressed her against the side of the cabin.  The tears gushed down her cheeks, wetting his, too.

 

He lifted his head at last, his breath falling fast and hard on her face, his expression agonized.

 

“I love you!” he bawled in a hoarse miserable voice.  “Come with me.”

 

“You know I can’t,” she cried.

 

“We’ll find a way.” He pressed.  “I’ll think of some way…”

 

“No, Aaron.  I can’t risk it.”

 

“Oh, God!”  Aaron’s mouth swooped down again, open and hungry, and this time she clutched him as desperately as he clutched her.  As abruptly as he’d lunged, he pulled back, holding her face, searching her eyes with a harrowed look.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Aaron, please don’t.”

 

“Tell me!”

 

“I love you!” she groaned.  “But does it make any difference?  You can’t stay here and I can’t go with you.”

 

“Yes, it makes a difference.  I want to marry you.”

 

“You know that’s impossible,” she cried in despair.  “I’m already married.”

 

“I can’t leave you like this.”

 

“You couldn’t be happy here, Aaron, we both know it.  You have to go back and live your dreams.  Maybe someday I’ll be able to see you again.  Now kiss me one more time, than get on that horse and go back to where you belong.”

 

This time their kiss was sweet and yearning and filled with good-byes.  They tore their mouths apart.  He spun on his heel, not wiping away the tears flowing down his own cheeks and flung himself on the horse.  Without a backward glance, he kicked the horse into a gallop, leaving Sara staring after him, wondering how long it took a heart to break completely.


	9. Chapter 9

Inside the house was beastly quiet.

 

Sara found herself listening for his breathing, his yawning, his limping footsteps.  The pall of silence grew awesome.  She dropped down onto the edge of the bed, feeling his absence keenly, knowing bleakness more complete and sad than that which she had felt at the death of her parents.

 

Twisting at the waist, she suddenly punched one small fist into the pillow, demanding angrily, “Get out of my house, Aaron Stempel!”

 

Only he was out.

 

She punched the pillow again, her delicate fist creating a thick, muffled sound of loneliness.  He’s gone, she despaired.  He’s gone.  How could she have grown so used to him that his absence assaulted her by its mere absence?  She wanted her life back the way it had been before he’d come into it.  She sank both hands into the soft feathers of the pillow, taking great fistfuls of his absence, her head slung low between her sagging shoulders as she braced there in the gloom.

 

“Damn you, Aaron!” she shouted at the dark ceiling.  “Damn you for ever coming here!”

 

Then she fell lonely upon her bed, rolling onto her side and hugging the pillow to her stomach while she cried.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lottie’s saloon was crowded with rough men sharing an evening of camaraderie.  Beyond the doors it was raining, not a terribly unusual occurrence in Seattle.  But inside it was dry and warm and friendly.

 

Jason Bolt lifted his head curiously when a big trapper stalked into Lottie’s saloon.  He’d passed the man earlier on his way down from the mountain and had hoped he wasn’t headed for Seattle.  Trappers weren’t too uncommon in town, but most often they waited for Rendezvous when all the trappers in the mountains came down for one giant gathering, and usually left the town in a shambles when they left. 

 

A few of the loggers moved discreetly from the tables when the large man stood in front of the stove.  A very unsavory aroma rose from the wet buffalo coat the man was wrapped in.  The collar of the coat was pulled up.  A shapeless hat was pulled low on his forehead and a heavy black beard, which was parted by a wicked scar that ran from eyebrow to jaw, covered the lower half of his face.  Jason watched him cautiously.  He really didn’t want to start a fight with this hulking bear but he was in no mood to put up with any shenanigans either.

 

After warming himself sufficiently, the trapper moved, walking with a pronounced limp to the bar.  Lottie stayed as far away as she could without offending the man, though Jason could tell he was offending her nose.

 

“What’ll it be?”

 

The man spoke in a hoarse gravelly voice.  “Whiskey.”

 

Lottie poured a liberal shot in a glass and placed it in front of him before moving a little more distant from the man.  “That’ll be two-bits, big guy.”

 

The man casually turned his back to the bar.  “My credit’s good.”

 

Lottie was not about to be stiffed.  “I decide who gets credit around here.”

 

Quietly, Jason rose from his chair, moving across the room to support Lottie.  The room stilled as the occupants turned their attention to the confrontation.  The town hadn’t had a good fight in months.

 

“Why don’t you just pay the lady?” Jason suggested softly.  “There’s no reason to cause trouble.”

 

“And why don’t _you_ just mind your own business, timberdog?”  The rough voice held a touch of what Jason, in other circumstances, would have interpreted as laughter.  “Hey, saloon lady, you must have something better than this cheap swill.”

 

Before Jason could anticipate his next move, the trapper reached behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of the private stock Lottie had always kept there for Aaron Stempel.  Murmurs of anger could be heard in the crowded room.

 

“That’s enough!” Lottie yelled.  “Get out of my place.”

 

But the big man stood his ground and grinned.  The dark eyes beneath the hat coolly surveying the crowd, he turned toward Jason.  Jason took a step forward, bringing the other man within arm’s reach.

 

“You really don’t want to start any trouble, do you?”  Jason tried his most charming grin.  “Why don’t we be reasonable…”

 

“Or what will happen?” the man taunted.  “You and this puny lot gonna try to throw me out, Bolt?”

 

Anger rising, Jason reached out and grabbed a handful of the buffalo coat.  “If we have to!”

 

The man simply grinned at him.  Jason’s anger faltered and his eyes widened at the sight of that grin.  That, oh, so familiar grin.  It couldn’t be!

 

A slender hand jerked at his sleeve.  Jason turned confused eyes to find Biddy Cloom standing beside him, atremble with excitement.

 

“J-j-j-jason!  Its…its…” She stuttered.

 

“I haven’t been gone _that_ long, Bolt.”  The hoarseness was gone, replaced by a recognizable voice.  “I didn’t think you could forget the only man who ever fought you to a standstill.”

 

“Aaron?” he whispered the name in a voice filled with awe and disbelief.

 

The name spread through the saloon, whispered on every lip.  They all stood frozen, unable to comprehend how this could be.  _Aaron Stempel was dead.  Yves had seen his body, had buried Aaron, hadn’t he?_

 

“Well, isn’t anyone gonna welcome me back?” Aaron grinned at his own resurrection.  “I swear I’m not a ghost.”

 

Lottie was the first to react.  Shrieking with joy, she whirled around the bar and flung herself at Aaron.  He unabashedly returned the embrace, lifting Lottie completely off the floor and swinging her in wide circles.  The spell broken, everyone leapt on him.  Through much shouting and backslapping, the questions started.

 

“What happened?  Where have you been?  We thought you were dead.”  Everyone spoke at once, making it nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise.

 

“One at a time,” Aaron cried with a laugh.  He peeled off his wet, smelly coat.  “Here, someone take this and burn it.  I thought I was gonna suffocate from the fumes before I got here.  When I traded for it, I had no idea it would smell that bad when it was wet.”

 

The crowd parted, as the offending garment was disposed of, then shifted back around Aaron.

 

“Do you mind if I sit down?  It’s been a long ride down here and my leg is starting to ache like the devil.”  A chair appeared like magic and Aaron gratefully sat, massaging his left thigh.

 

“We thought you were dead.”  Jason accused, placing his hand on Aaron’s shoulder.  It was solid and warm, not at all ghostly.  “Where have you _been_?  We searched for you for _weeks_.  And what the hell was this…masquerade about?”

 

“When you rode by on the trail earlier without recognizing me, I couldn’t resist.  Just wanted to see how long it would take before you realized it was me.”  The bright sparkle dimmed in Aaron’s eyes as he looked up at Jason.  “You don’t know how close I was to _bein’_ dead, Bolt.  If it hadn’t been for…the trapper who found me I would have bleed to death.”

 

In the mysterious way of small towns the word had passed of Aaron’s return.  The saloon was crowded with people with more coming in every second.

 

“What happened?”

 

“I stopped to fill up my canteen at a little spring about a quarter of a mile off the Packwood road.”  Aaron started his tale.  “I don’t know what happened then.  Maybe I got between a mother bear and her cub or maybe the animal just decided he didn’t like me.  Anyway the next thing I knew I was flat on my back lookin’ up into a mouthful of teeth.”

 

There were some gasps and nervous chuckles from the crowd.  But all eyes were drawn to the new scar that ran down the side of Aaron’s face.

 

“How did you get away?”

 

“I don’t really know, Candy.  I don’t remember a whole lot about it.  He must have knocked me unconscious.  When I woke up, he was gone.  I managed to get on Baron, but I must have passed out, so Baron just took me where ever he decided to go.  I fell off sometime later.  That’s when the trapper found me.”

 

“Baron came home after you fell.”  Jason tried to fill Aaron in on what had happened while he was gone.  “We searched the trails for over three weeks.  Then we found a man who had your watch and he said he’d buried you.”

 

“You got my watch back?” Aaron asked in surprised appreciation.  “Well, he might have stolen my watch but he certainly didn’t bury me.”

 

Lottie laid a hand on his shoulder.  “You must have been hurt bad to be gone so long.”

 

“My leg was the worst.”  He ran his hand thoughtfully over the cloth covering his thigh.  “Snapped it like a dried twig.  I’m lucky I can still walk.”

 

He shook his head slightly.  “I stayed with the trapper until I was strong enough to make the ride back.”

 

The room quieted as they all realized what Aaron had been through.

 

A shrill gasp came from the doorway.  “Aaron?”

 

Aaron stood and craned his neck to look over the crowd to see who called his name.  “Julie?  Julie, what are you doin’ here?”

 

Aaron’s sister stood in the doorway.  Her normally pale complexion was parchment white and she swayed enough that Jason took a step toward her, afraid she might faint.

 

She took a deep gasping breath.  “Aaron?  Is it _really_ you?”

 

“Yes.  I’m really back.”

 

Julie walked across the room stiffly, as if her legs weren’t quite connected to her body.  As she came close, Jason slipped his hand under her elbow, gently supporting.  She didn’t seem to notice, her entire being focused on her brother.

 

“Aaron, how…they said…I thought…”

 

Hands bracketing her shoulders, Aaron looked tenderly down at his sister.  “I know.  But it wasn’t true.”

 

“Thank God,” she cried, tears falling down her cheeks.  “Thank God you’re alive.”

 

Pulling her in, Aaron wrapped his arms securely around her, letting her cry against his chest.  “It’s okay, Julie.  Everything’s gonna be okay now.”

 

After a few moments, Julie regained her control and raised her head, staring at her brother with awe and wonder.  “You look so different.”  She ran her hand across his beard.  “What’s this?” she teased, her voice still shaky.

 

“Couldn’t find a razor.”

 

“And this?”  Her fingers skimmed over his beard to wrap themselves in his wild curls.

 

“No barbers, either.”

 

Her hand descended again and trembled against the fresh scar on his face.  “This?”

 

His hand came up to cover hers, “I’ll tell you the whole story later.”

 

“Were you badly hurt, Aaron?”

 

Aaron’s eyes closed and a look of pain darted across his face.  “More than you can see, Julie.”

 

Jason laid his hand comfortingly on Aaron’s shoulder and extended his other hand.  “I think I speak for all of us when I say, it’s damn good to have you back, Aaron.”

 

Aaron looked down at the hand and for an awful moment, Jason thought he would refuse to shake it.  Then he did an amazing thing.  He pushed the hand aside and pulled Jason into his arms for a warm embrace.  They stood together, each rejoicing in the moment.

 

“It’s good to be back!”  Aaron struggled to keep the tremble from his voice and the tears from spilling down his face.  “It’s so damn good to be back.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Awakening in the morning, Sara forgot she was in the cabin alone.  She stretched and rolled over, wondering what to fix Aaron for breakfast.  Realizing her mistake, she sat up abruptly and looked around.  She was alone.

 

She flopped back down, studied the ceiling, closed her eyes and admonished herself to be sensible.  Life must go on.  She could and she would get over Aaron Stempel.  But she opened her eyes and felt empty.  The day had nothing to inspire her to get out of bed.

 

She spent the day trying to scrub every last vestige of Aaron Stempel from her cabin.  She washed the smell of him from her blankets, polished his fingerprints from the brass, and plumped his imprint from the cushions of the rocking chair.  But even so, she could not reclaim the house as her own.  He remained present in its memory, possessing each article he’d touched, lingering in each place he’d rested, an unwanted reminder of what he’d been to her.


End file.
